Some days I am brimming with things I want to discuss. And other days (see today’s date) I have nothing. I stare at the blinking cursor and try to think of something I have to say that you might find interesting. Every now and then a nugget will pop into my brain. But sometimes, thinking feels like walking into a dark closet. Unfortunately, I’m having a dark-closet day. Fortunately, I found a shoe box in the very back. It was marked RANDOM THING I REALIZED THIS WEEK. Inside there was one item. I will share it with you now.
*Carolyn, one of my very best friends in Toronto, emailed a class photo of us in the 7th grade. For some reason I am unable to upload photos today (must call webmaster JJ) so I will describe it. And you know, it’s probably a blessing because it is not the kind of photo you want floating around on the web. A picture of me picking my nose wearing nothing but white sweat socks and a propellor cap would be less embarrassing. TRULY. This was HIDEOUS! I had a super short boy cut. Braces. A nose that grew faster than my cheeks. Dark green and mint green striped shorts that hit just above the knee. A red and white baseball jersey. And Topsiders. (You know that boating loafer that was big in the ’80s?). Naturally I asked myself, “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”. Then I looked at my classmates and I had my answer. Out of fifteen girls, only three had long hair. SHOUT OUT to Alison, Terri, and Shirley. You had the good sense to ignore the trend and stick with your own style. And you know what? Out of fifteen girls you are, without a doubt, the only three who can look back on that picture without a barf-bag and knitting needles aimed at your eyes. As for the remaining twelve, SHAME ON US! I know exactly what we were thinking. We hopped on the trend bandwagon whether our noses were ready for short hair or not. And decades later, we are still paying the price. My point? This is not about short hair vs long hair. In college I returned to the short cut (see Demi Moore in Ghost) and it was a lot more flattering. The braces were off. The perm had grown out. The cheeks and nose were finally working in tandem. This is about knowing your own style. Having the clarity to know when you are jumping on a trend or doing something because you want to. The collective conscious has a seductive hold on us. One day it’s boot cut and the next it’s skinny jeans. Suddenly boot cut stink like moldy feta and girls with boot cut bodies are jamming their gams inside denim sausage casings. Stay fashionable by all means. But know your own style and what works for you. Then see trends as options at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Just because green Jello with mini-marshmallows is available doesn’t mean it’s for you.
* Hey, here’s an idea… why not post topics you’d like me to discuss on dark-closet days. If I choose your topic you get a big ol’ shout out.
*Okay one more thing…next week I won’t be here to blah-g. Why you ask??? Because for the first time in FIVE YEARS I am going on a real vacation. That secret book I have been working on is due Monday. I have been working 7 days a week for the last four weeks and I am FRIED. So I am hopping on a plane with Kevy (my life-crush) and we are going to CABO baby! I will take lots of pictures and hope that Webmaster JJ can fix my site so I can post them. If not I will do by best to describe. Hopefully the word HIDEOUS will not come up again.
* SHOUT OUT to Steph. Happy Birthday on the 30th!!!!
Okay my mom just sent me an email asking where the Blah-g was. Sorry I’m late but it’s not even 6:30pm where I live. And did I mention the massive storm that has turned my street into a gushing river? Or my fever? Or my looming deadline for the new book I’m not allowed to talk about yet? The one that has me at the office despite the massive storm and fever? Have I won your sympathy yet? Your forgiveness? I hope so because its all true and I don’t know about you but when I have a fever my default setting is CRY. So please be nice
That said, how are you guys??? Is everyone fabulous? Let me here you say hey-oooo, hey-ooooo! (That was the fever typing, not me. I’ve never been one for call and response.)
Do any of you have friends or relatives in Haiti? I hope not because it’s brutal over there. I have a friend, a very cute friend, named Jon Rose and he’s there. Thankfully he wasn’t a victim, he’s part of a rescue team. He’s a pro surfer/humanitarian who brings water filters to places that have been hit by a natural disaster. Basically these people are now homeless and their water supplies have been contaminated. And since most of the world doesn’t have vending machines on every corner like we do, they are in dire need of water. So Jon hooks them up with water filters so they can access clean water. To learn more about Waves4Water and possibly make a donation (or just see how cute he is) go to his website at http://www.wavesforwater.org/ Seriously, five bucks will help. Think of it as giving your next bottle of Evian to someone who has nothing. Thanks ladies. Wait, we should start our own organization called Lady4Haiti.
Today’s SHOUT OUT is for JON ROSE!!!
To make up for the depressing paragraphs above, I will now lighten the mood with an excerpt selection from Alphas 2- Movers and Fakers.
*
CHAPTER 1
MARIE CURIE INVENTOR’S LAB
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 20
12:46 PM
“Ready?” Charlie turned to her co-pilot in the passenger seat and shot her brows skyward, excitement twinkling in her almond brown eyes. She still couldn’t believe where they were, strapped into a Personal Alpha Plane, each zippered into a gold ALPHAS flight suit with an inspirational quote embroidered along the left sleeve.
Adventure is worthwhile in itself.
-Amelia Earhart
Allie’s vivid green eyes met Charlie’s. In the light-flooded airplane hangar, they were the exact color of a lime flavored jelly belly. “Can’t we just sit here a little longer?” she pleaded, her voice pinched and wavering. Panic-induced perspiration trickled down her porcelain temples like rain on a sidewalk. Charlie examined Allie’s profile—ski-slope nose, full rosebud lips, and wide eyes ringed by a perfect fringe of doll-length lashes—and wondered for the millionth time how such a pretty girl had ended up with the confidence of a wet rag.
“No can do, Al. We only have half an hour ‘till class,” Charlie reminded her trembling friend. She scooted back against the squishy silver pilot’s seat and clicked her safety belt shut, the buckle forming a chunky platinum “A”.
The golf-cart-sized plane looked like a giant plexiglass soap bubble—it was perfectly round and totally translucent. Charlie was appropriately bubbly herself. She clenched and unclenched her fists, her hands hovering over the touch-screen control panel like she was Beethoven. She scanned her surroundings, making sure they were cleared for takeoff.
All around the launchpad, technicians in white jumpsuits and BRAZILLE ENTERPRISES caps were busy making adjustments to the other 99 PAPs.
“Maybe we could do this another time, then,” Allie asked hopefully, still trying to weasel her way out of the adventure. She ran a hand through her shiny jet-black hair and cocked her head hopefully at Charlie.
Charlie put a reassuring hand on Allie’s jiggling knee. “Don’t you want to be the first Alphas to take one of these babies out for a spin?”
At the elite Alpha Academy, where both girls had managed to survive a month, doing things first and doing them the best was everything. After all, Shira Brazille’s school for exceptional writers, dancers, artists and inventors was full of girls who had been best and first their whole lives.
“Of course, but this thing is teeny! My Chanel makeup palette is bigger than this.” Allie squirted some Purell into her hands and nervously rubbed them together. She stared out the window at the shiny rows of planes lined up in air formation like marbles in a game of Chinese checkers. “Did Shira really say we could be here?”
“Uh huh,” Charlie gloat-grinned, wiggling her fingers to remind Allie. Her nail polish had turned a shade of revved-up red, perfectly matching her mood. “It’s my little reward.”
The billionaire mogul had called Charlie into her office last night and grudgingly told her that she’d earned a ride in a PAP for having received the first patent at Alpha Academy. Charlie was on the inventor track at school, and she had just trademarked a prototype for saliva-activated nail polish that changed colors based on the Ph-levels in a person’s mouth. Shira predicted the lick slicks line of polish would be a major seller for her cosmetics company, X-Chromosome. Charlie had been overjoyed until Shira congratulated her for “dumb luck” by applying existing technology in a “somewhat clever” way.
Charlie and Shira had a more tangled history than Mark Zuckerberg and facebook’s other cofounders: As the daughter of Shira’s former assistant, Bee, Charlie had known the international sensation since she was in diapers. A talk-show host whose ratings rivaled Oprah’s, Shira was the CEO of not just Brazille Enterprises, but various subsidiary companies, and a household name from Irvine to Indonesia. Over the course of Charlie’s life, Shira had become one of the richest, most powerful women in the world. And since day one, she’d also persisted in overlooking Charlie’s accomplishments.
“And she said I could bring anyone I wanted. If I’d known you were going to wuss out, I would have picked someone else,” Charlie said teasingly.
Lately, Alpha Academy had felt more like a maximum-security prison than a school for phenomenally talented girls. Charlie longed to take off and get some breathing room for a few minutes to escape the pressure-cooker vibe. And she knew that once Allie was in the air, she’d feel better, too.
“Okay, okay, fine. I’m not wussing out,” Allie sighed. “Let’s fly.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Charlie pulled out her aPhone (the glittery rectangle that kept the students of Alpha Academy connected to one other—but not to the rest of the world—and served as a personal remote control for all of the island’s technology). The round portals on either side of the plane squeezed shut with a sucking sound, and a map of the @-shaped island appeared on the control screen in front of her, with a blue dot blinking in the launchpad area.
“That’s us,” Charlie said, pointing at the dot and grinning. She re-fastened the bobby pin that held back her shaggy brown bangs and prepared for liftoff…
Wow! Last week I mentioned that there would be three more books in the Clique series and then it would end. Alphas will keep going and I am working on two new series so there will still be plenty to read. But still, the jury was more hung than….wait let me try that again. The jury was out like bootcut jeans. Some of you are on board for ending the Clique (Thank you for understanding) while others are signing petitions to keep it going (Thank you for not understanding. It warms my heart.).
* Believe me, I get where all of you are coming from. This was a very hard decision. I have spent every day for the last 7 years with the PC. And I’m going to miss those sassy sisters of mine. But fear not. I am not setting off to write the sequel to 300 (600?). I will keep writing books that appeal to you guys. You can bet your sass on it.
That means good-looking people with major self-esteem issues (love that!) and awkward teens who betray themselves to get ahead (adore them!) girls who form secret societies (how very intriguing!), themes that focus on racism, popularity, acceptance, tolerance, success, betrayal, and BOYS! I promise I won’t leave you for another genre. I won’t introduce you to characters you won’t get along with. And I’ll always do my best to make you laugh. Trust me. Think of this transition as a new jean trend. The cut may be change but it’s always gonna be made of denim. To prove it I’m going to change my name to Levi Harrison.
* Last week I asked if you wanted an excerpt from There Boots are Made For Stalking or Movers and Fakers. You chose the Clique so here you go…chapter two of These Boots… (chapter one is in the archives under Thanksblogging.)
SHOUT OUT to the girls who signed the petition. I truly love that you are fighting for this…you never know…
10
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
HEMMING WAY
Friday, October 31st
8:13 p.m.
Claire Lyons linked arms with Massie, who linked arms with
Alicia, who linked arms with Kristen, who linked arms with
Dylan. Together, Claire and her fellow trampires charged
through the darkness toward the first house of the night,
Guerlain-powdered faces deathly pale and Crest Whitestripped
fangs gleaming. David and Victoria Beckham, a Masai bush-
man, a bloody-fanged ump-pire, and Chewbacca from Star
Wars followed close behind. The click-clack of the girls’ heels
on the pavement pierced the crisp night air, sending clusters
of drugstore costume–wearing amateurs scrambling out of
the way.
“Caaaaaaaannnndy,” Dylan droned like a zombie, staring
down the driveway that led to a looming Tudor-style mansion.
Smoke from the glowing paper luminaries lining the drive
mixed with the warm smells of melted caramel, burnt marsh-
mallows, and Massie’s signature Chanel No. 19 perfume.
Goosebumps prickled Claire’s bare arms, but she was too
excited to care. Her gray fleece didn’t exactly go with Merri-
Lee Marvil’s burgundy D&G slip dress and black satin Ferrag-
amo peep-toes. And claiming the chills would give Claire the
perfect excuse later to snuggle up to her crush, Cam Fisher.
“Guh-ross.” Alicia flashed her fangs as the PC led their
crushes and Layne around a tiered stone fountain in front of
crushes and Layne around a tiered stone fountain in front of
the estate. Hundreds of rubber eyeballs bobbed in the churn-
ing water, which had been dyed dark red to look like blood.
“Huuarughhhh,” grunted Layne from beneath her rubber
Chewbacca mask. Her brown, feather-covered unitard was
stuffed with fluffy down pillows for extra padding.
Claire giggled, secretly loving that Layne had turned down
her offer to be a trampire so she could dress like Chewie.
“Sweet!” Derrington yelled, rushing the fountain and
scooping a handful of the painted rubber eyeballs from the
water. “Ammo!”
Dylan rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at the corners
of her mouth as Derrington punted the spheres at Dempsey.
“Hey!” Dempsey swung at the eyeballs with the ten-foot
spear he’d used to accessorize his tiny red loincloth. “My mom
got this at a tribal ceremony in Africa! She’ll kill you if it gets
messed up.”
“And she’ll kill you if she realizes her skirt’s missing from
her display case,” Kristen chided her crush, tugging at the
pewter Undrest chemise she wore over lumpy metallic leg-
gings; she had a ski suit on under her costume in case she ran
into her mom and had to do a quick change. The overall effect
was more sumo wrestler than sexy trampire.
Out of eyeballs, Derrington ran back over and punched
Josh-slash-Victoria Beckham in the shoulder. “Dude, this is a
family show. Keep it clean.”
“Huh?” Josh Spice glanced down. Without Alicia’s C-cups
to hold it in place, the black strapless minidress he’d borrowed
from her was starting to inch down his chest. “Whoops. I
guess I need a smaller size.” He grinned, cracking the perma-
Posh-frown he’d painted on with lip liner.
Alicia’s cheeks flushed to match her Stila-stained pout.
“It’sbigonmetoo.”
Cam let out a quiet snicker and Claire elbowed him swiftly
in the ribs. Not that she was actually mad. Even in an umpire
mask and blood-tipped fangs, Cam looked adorable. The furry
bat on his shoulder had been Claire’s idea, and it was the per-
fect finishing touch for his ump-pire costume.
“Claire, are you a judge on Dancing with the Stars?” Mass-
ie’s voice jolted Claire from her Cam-coma. Or, as Massie liked
to call it, her Cam-a.
“Nope.”
“Then quit checking Cam’s every move.” Massie resumed
her strut, leading the girls and their crushes toward the
house.
Busted. Claire grinned, relieved that Massie was in a good
mood despite being crush-minus for the night. She was even
more relieved that the Pretty Committee was finally back to
normal. And it was partly thanks to her. When she’d figured
out that Massie had hired actors for her new crew, Claire had
taken matters into her own hands. She’d secretly convinced
the actors to act clingier than a cheap jersey dress so Massie
would realize who her true friends were. And now the PC was
back and stronger than Zac and Vanessa.
When they reached the end of the driveway, Dylan
whipped her red feather boa around her neck with a flourish
and tromped up the stone steps toward the arched wooden
door.
Claire burst out laughing at the sight of a very tiny Luke
Skywalker coming down the steps, swishing a neon light
saber at an imaginary opponent.
“Huuuuuuuuuargh,” Chewie squealed.
“Layne,” Massie snapped, the tips of her fangs showing
slightly. “English, puh-lease.”
Chewie swung her wrinkly rubber face in Claire’s direc-
tion.
“Method acting,” Claire explained. “She can’t break char-
acter.”
Massie rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “Actors,” she said, just
loud enough for Dempsey to hear. Then she planted her Chanel
Black Satin–polished nail on the doorbell, and a ghoulish wail
echoed inside the dark entryway.
Seconds later, a silver-haired man in a cornflower blue
cardigan and a neon green Frankenstein mask answered the
door. A giant glass bowl overflowing with colorfully wrapped
goodies was cradled under his left arm.
“Trick-or-treeeeeeaaaat,” Claire bellowed along with her
friends.
Except for Massie, who was sneaking a peek at her iPhone.
And Chewie, who grunted, “Huuua huuaaaarrghhhhh!”
The trampires extended their bags. They’d chosen the roomi-
est designer totes they owned, to maximize candy-filling poten-
tial. The boys and Layne had brought Hefty garbage bags.
“Well,” a muffled, grandfatherly voice leaked from the rubber mask. “Aren’t you all”—the mask surveyed the tram-
pires’ barely there costumes—“something.”
“Given.” Alicia beamed.
“Fill ’er up,” Dylan interrupted, elbowing her way to the
front door and yanking open the black patent Versace rolling
trolley she used for overnight trips.
Frankenstein peered skeptically inside the suitcase, then
dropped a tin of chocolate hazelnut espresso beans into the
empty tote. It landed with a hollow thud.
“Thanks.” Dylan didn’t budge.
Frankenstein took the hint, digging a small gold box of
chocolates and a pack of colorful gummies from the bowl. He
dropped those in the bag too. Claire’s mouth watered and she
shifted impatiently in her peep-toes.
“Dylan.” Massie had stashed her iPhone back in her bag.
“Are you a Barney’s twenty-four-hour sale?”
Dylan shook her head, sending her professionally straight-
ened locks swinging in a shimmering velvet curtain around
her shoulders.
Massie glanced at Alicia, Claire, and Kristen.
“’Cause you’re taking ALL DAY!” the girls cackled, hip-
bumping Dylan out of the way.
Claire tried not to gawk as Frankenstein filled the rest
of the PC’s designer candy bags. Comparing Halloween in
Orlando to Halloween in Westchester was like comparing
Keds to Kors. Here, Claire’s tote was filled with chocolates
from the Godiva G collection, Dean & Deluca butter caramels,
and gummy vampire fangs from Dylan’s Candy Bar. In Florida,
the best Claire could hope for in her plastic pumpkin was a
mini Snickers. Once, she’d gotten a tube of denture cream.
Yip! Yip! Yip!
Massie blushed under her pressed powder and hugged her
bag to her chest.
“What was that?” Claire demanded as they made their
way down the steps.
“What was what?” Massie asked lightly. They passed a
gaggle of sixth-graders dressed as the cast of High School
Musical who were pelting one another with reject candy.
Ducking to avoid taking a cellophane-wrapped candy apple
to the head, Claire furrowed her brow at Massie’s tote.
“Your bag barked.” Claire cocked her head slightly to the
right, staring directly into Massie’s eyes. It was the same
look Massie gave Alicia when she suspected her of withhold-
ing good gossip.
“Puh-lease. I invented that look.” Massie shook her head,
staring over Claire’s shoulder into the chilly darkness.
But Claire had learned from the best and she refused to
look away.
Massie sighed. “Fine,” she said, unzipping her bag and
pulling out her iPhone. “It’s the SnoopDawg Web site. It
barks every time Bean shifts positions.” She tilted the phone
in Claire’s direction.
“Uh . . . I don’t see anything,” Claire said into the black
screen.
“I know,” Massie huffed. “The charm got twisted around
or something. It’s recording Bean’s throat.”
Claire shook her head, swallowing a giggle. “Come on,”
she coaxed. “Put the phone away. Bean’s fine.”
“Fine.” Massie chucked her phone into her bag. “Happy?”
But the gleam in her amber eyes proved she wasn’t really
mad.
“Let’s move, people,” Dylan interrupted. “There’s still six
houses on this street.”
Claire and Massie linked arms with Alicia, Dylan, and
Kristen and turned to go.
“Wait. Where’d the boys go?” Alicia sucked in her breath
and stopped dead in her tracks, yanking Claire and the rest
of girls to a halt. Keeping her elbow locked with Claire’s, she
dragged the PC chain in a 180-degree turn, making them look
like the Rockettes prepping for their finale in the middle of
the driveway.
Claire squint-searched for Cam. “Um, there.” She pointed
to the front lawn, where her crush, the rest of the boys, and
Layne were rearranging a giant spider lawn ornament in the
yard to make it look like it was humping a defenseless jack-
o’-lantern. Claire blushed.
Kristen sighed.
Alicia lowered her eyes to the pavement.
“Come on. The boys’ll catch up later,” Massie ordered,
steering them toward the street.
At least it’s dark, Claire thought to herself, embarrassed
for their crushes and Layne. Maybe no one would recognize
Cam in his ump-pire mask. Josh Spice, on the other hand . . .
“Hotz! Hotz! Hotz!” Suddenly the boys sprinted past the PC, egging Josh on as he ran barefoot into the street. He held
the giant lawn spider over his head like an Olympic trophy.
“My pumps!” Alicia wailed, speed-leading the PC in the
boys’ wake. “Those were vintage!”
Behind them, Layne pity-patted Alicia’s shoulder with a
hairy paw.
“Yip! Yip! Yip!” Bean’s bark leaked from Massie’s bag
again. She reached for her phone. Again.
Massie stare-silenced Claire before she could say a word.
“It just so happens, Kuh-laire, that this is the longest Bean
and I have ever been apart. What kind of mother would I be
if I didn’t—”
“No lights.” Josh huffed as the girls caught up to them in
front of the next house on the street. He bent over like he was
cramping from too many soccer sprints.
“And no decorations,” Dempsey shuddered, his bare legs
starting to turn a grayish-purple in the cold.
“Which means no good candy.” Dylan leaned against her
rolling suitcase, narrowing her eyes at the modest two-story
brick house in front of them. A single, unlit jack-o’-lantern
sagged on the front stoop.
“Steeeeeeeer-ike three!” Cam called, baring his fangs.
Claire’s heart fluttered in her chest.
“Opposite of worth it,” Alicia decided after a quick
re-gloss.
“Skip it,” Kristen declared.
“No way,” Claire said firmly. “N.H.L.B.”
“N.H.L.B.?” Kristen echoed.
“No House Left Behind,” Claire explained. “That means we
hit every house, every year. No exceptions.”
Cam’s blue eye filled with admiration. So did his green
one.
“We’re not in it for the candy, Kuh-laire,” Massie said
dismissively. “We’re in it for the costumes.” She crossed her
arms over her jumpsuit.
“I’minitforboth,” Dylan clarified.
Claire shrugged at Massie. “Whatevs,” she said, Cam’s
encouragement fueling her like a mid-morning gummy fix. She
stepped onto the front lawn, her satin-covered heels immedi-
ately sinking into the grass.
Dylan popped another fistful of espresso beans, then leapt
onto the lawn. “Coming!”
Layne grunted her approval, lumbering slowly behind
Dylan. Cam and the boys followed.
“This better be good,” Massie sighed.
Claire led her friends though the cold, wet grass, exhila-
rated. Last year, Massie definitely wouldn’t have given in to
her so easily. It felt like catching Massie without gloss in the
morning—a rare moment of vulnerability. Or maybe the alpha
was finally letting go of her Lycra ways.
Claire was the first to reach the door. An orange plastic
bowl filled with candy sat on the front steps of the dark house,
and a handwritten sign was taped to the bowl.
take Whatever you Want. then leave.
“Done and done.” Just as Claire was about to dig into the
bowl, flickering lights to her left caught her eye. In a glass-
enclosed sunroom off the side of the house, a giant flat screen
broadcast a larger-than-life image of Janet Leigh showering
in the Bates Motel.
“Move it or lose it, Kuh-laire.” Massie and the other tram-
pires crowded onto the stoop.
“It’s Psycho!” Claire said, pointing to the TV. “My all-time
favorite horror—”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” High-pitched screams erupted
from inside, and bright white light from the screen illumi-
nated a group of girls and guys crammed onto a leather sofa
together. Two tiny puppies were curled up in a bowl on one
of the girls’ laps.
Claire froze at the sight of three very familiar faces:
Landon Crane. Bean Block. And Bark Obama.
On the screen, a dark, knife-wielding figure appeared
behind the white curtain. Blood swirled down the drain. But
the horror on-screen was nothing compared to the scene
unfolding next to Claire.
Massie’s eyes narrowed and her fangs gleamed in the
blue light. Claire’s heart plunged lower than Josh’s neckline.
Landon Crane had no idea, but his Halloween scare-a-thon
was about to get seriously terrifying.
* Happy New Year!!!!! I bet you had no clue I’d open with that. I hope you all had a fab break. I have to thank you for posting over 2700 comments during my time off. I love that you stayed in touch over the holidays. And I love, love, love that the title The Worst Blah-G Ever didn’t scare you away. That’s loyalty.
*Okay, wait, before I go any further I have to say; go see Avatar in 3D. I swear, when I left the theater everything looked so flat and colorless. Granted it was dark out, but still. My corneas (cornei?) were dancing for days after that one.
*SHOUT OUT TO Anna D!!! Happy Birthday. I know everyone is burnt out on “Happy’s” when this time of year rolls around (Thanksgiving, Channukah, Kwanza, Christmas, New Year, King’s Day…) so I am giving you a shout to let you know there’s at least one girl in Laguna Beach who has some Happy left to give!!!! (If you meet her tell her I say hi - badum, bum!)
Okay, I have good news, sad news, and sugly news…
THE GOOD NEWS
1) We all made it another year. Yayyy!
2) Get ready to read your eyeballs off in 2010 because…
March 10th - These Boots Are Made for Stalking (Clique #12) DROPS!.
April 10th - Movers and Fakers (Alphas #2) DROPS!
July 10th - My Little Phony (Clique #13) DROPS!
* Next week I will post an excerpt from either These Boots Are Made for Stalking or Movers and Fakers. Tell me which you would prefer. I am here to serve you.
3) I am also working away on a brand new series (don’t bother Googling, it’s top secret. Not even Google knows).
4) I am launching an ah-mazing iPhone App
THE SAD NEWS
1) The only thing I can tell you about the new series is it has nothing to do with The Clique or Alphas. It’s new like that.
2) The only thing I can tell you about the iPhone App is it has nothing to do with The Clique or Alphas. It too, is new like that.
I will share the details as soon as the lawyers say I can. (I was going to lie and come up with some super-cool reason why I couldn’t tell you but we have been so open and honest with each other for the last 6 years that I decided to come clean. Besides, it’s way too early in the year to start messing up resolutions. That’s what March is for.
THE SUGLY NEWS (Sugly means Super-Sad-Ugly. My Blah-g = my fake words)
1) If you’ve made it this far in the Clique series stay the course because you’ve almost reached the finish line. (Sniff, sniff) Unfortunately, Clique 14 will be the final Clique book in the series. I know. There is no easy way to say it so I decided to be all clinical and cold, like a doctor delivering a prognosis. I have always been a fan of leaving while the party is still fun. That way I always have good memories and manage to avoid that jarring feeling when the lights come on and all that’s left behind is a giant mess and a clogged toilet. Of course I will write a more emotional, sentimental blah-g as that fateful day arrives (2011). But since we are being honest (at least until March) I thought you should know. I promise the final novel won’t disappoint. I already know how its going to end. Any guesses?
Don’t be sad. New decades are times for new beginnings. And I promise you one thing. I am only beginning!
You know my love for you is limitless, right? Well, is that mutual? Because if it is you won’t be mad at me for this Blah-g which is officially The Worst Blah-G Ever. Why? Because I am not writing anything. I am simply wishing you all an ah-mazing holiday season and a rockin’ New Years Eve. I will be back in the saddle Wednesday January 6th and I will dazzle you then. I promise. But right now I have a To Do list the size of my leg and I have to get moving. Feel free to chat amongst yourselves while I’m gone.
SHOUT OUT to all of you for surviving another semester. Enjoy your time off.
While I was reading your comments I came across this cool game thingy from Katiee. And I tried it. Now I am posting my results because it’s the coolest thing I’ve done all morning I swear the answers I am posting are legit. (Sorry mom, blame the answer about my parents on the iPhone, not me.)
Here are the instructions…
Put Your itunes/ipod, windows media player etc on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button, and the title of that song is your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS
4. Put any comments in [brackets] after the song name
Are you male or female?
Baby Girl - Nelly Furtado
What do people feel when they’re around you?
Beautiful- India Arie (I swear that’s what I got!!!!- this is cool)
Describe your current relationship.
Bright Side of The Road- Van Morrison
Where would you like to be now?
Breaking Free- A New Earth (Okay this is crazy!!!! I am not making this up)
How do you feel about love?
Cover Me- Bjork
Whats your life like?
Deserve It- Madonna
What would you wish for if you had only one wish?
Doors of Perception-Thievery Corporation
Say something wise.
Enter The Circus - Christina Aguilera
If someone says “Is this okay?” You say,
Feel No Pain- Sade
How would you describe yourself?
Flying V - They Might Be Giants (I am cracking up right now!!!!)
What do you look for in a girl/guy?
Hidden Track - P!nk
How do you feel today?
I Don’t Need No Doctor - John Mayer (HILARIOUS!!!)
What is your life’s purpose?
I’ve Committed Murder- Macy Gray
What is your motto?
Jah Live- Bob Marley (Can I get a wittness??? This is crazy!)
What do your friends think of you?
King- UB40
What do you think of your parents?
Let’s Get Retarded - Black Eyed Peas (I am dying laughing right now. I know my mom is reading this. Mom, I swear I don’t really feel that way!)
What do you think about very often?
Marilou Reggae - Serge Gainsbourg
What is 2 + 2?
Nature- India.Arie
What do you think of your best friend?
Nothing Compares 2 U -Sinead O’Conner(I swear I am not making this up!!!)
What do you think of the person you like?
Only Human- Jason Mraz
What is your life story?
Perceiving Without Naming- A New Earth
What do you want to be when you grow up?
The Prettiest Thing - Nora Jones (Seriously? This is freaky)
What do you think of when you see the person you like?
Real Love (Remix)-Mary J Blige
What will you dance to at your wedding?
Right As Rain- Adele
What will they play at your funeral?
Satisfy My Soul-Bob Marley
What is your hobby/interest?
Shiver-Maroon 5
What is your biggest fear?
Size Matters-Natasha Bedingfield (ha!)
What is your biggest secret?
Stolen Car- Beth Orton (Busted!)
What do you think of your friends?
Swallowed In The Sea-Coldplay
I mean how cool is that??? SHOUTOUT to Katiee for posting this. And SHOUTOUT to my Mom. I don’t think you’re retarded.
If you sent a book for me to sign you should have it any day now. I just sent a bunch out. And if any of you know Mallory and Rachel please let them know I have their Clique books but they did not give me a self-addressed stamped envelope or a return address so I have no idea where to send them. I will hold on to the books. They are signed. Send me a letter with your address so I can get them to you.
Fan mail responses should also be coming your way. I am sending out tons. Thanks for your patience.
Lisi, What would you like to say to all of your fans?
Thank You- Dido (I swear on my life that’s what I got!!! This game is creepy)
Sorry 2 speak in abbrevs but I don’t have much time. I offered to bbysit a friend’s daughter’s hamster and it escaped in my house. I could not feel worse about it. We have food stations set up everywhere. I removed the dog. And every crossable part of my body is crossed for good luck. We thought we heard her under the kitchen floorboards so that’s a good sign (I think). But still, my friend gets back tomorrow and I am freaking. Any suggestions on how to catch a hamster that is the size of a mouse would be greatly appreciated.
Another creature that escaped my clutched was the snakeskin cover of the next Clique novel. These Boots Are Made For Stalking was supposed to look like this…
But it turns out the publisher wants to save the snake for My Little Phony, so you will be seeing this cover on 3.09.10 instead.
Along with this new author photo…
And this first chapter…
THE MARVIL ESTATE
MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S CLOSET
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30TH
4:35 P.M.
“Rate my costume,” Massie Block demanded, spinning around in a circle so the Pretty Committee could see her black silk Theory jumpsuit and red patent-leather Brian Atwood pumps from every angle. Hands on hips, she ran her tongue over her fang-enhanced smile and dared her friends to give her anything less than a 9.2.
Alicia Rivera and Dylan Marvil conferred like they were front-row fashion critics and Merri-Lee Marvil’s two-story walk-in closet was the main tent at Bryant Park. Dylan’s mom had given the girls permission to accessorize their Halloween costumes with anything from her closet that had passed the Best if Worn By tags dangling from their hangers.
Claire Lyons flashed a pointy-eye-toothed grin. “Nine-point-eight!”
“Heart it.” Alicia applauded.
“To die for.” Kristen Gregory grabbed a lacy camisole that hung from the crystal wall sconce like a cobweb.
“Suuuuuuuck iiiiit, Bellllaaaaahhhh,” Dylan burped, reaching for another chewy ghost peep.
Without warning, an electric shiver shimmied down Massie’s spine. Maybe it was the sting of her new lip-plumping Glossip Girl Bite Me Berry stain. Maybe it was the eerie flicker of the Belle Fleur Cacao Tabaq soy candles Dylan had lit to get her friends in the Halloween spirit. Or maybe it was the thrill of knowing that the Pretty Committee was back together and tighter than Massie’s abs after a two-hour Zumba-thon.
Alicia lifted her palm and Massie leaned down to victory-five it. When their palms met, waves of understanding flowed between them. Without saying a word, it was clear that Alicia would never try to be the alpha of her own clique again, like she’d done with the Soul-M8s, her failed boy-girl clique. And Massie would try to be a little less Bumble & Bumble super-hold hairspray and a little more Frederic Fekkai flexible hold.
“Are you sure Landon won’t think it’s juvenile?” Massie asked, adjusting her black lace gloves. Now that she had an ah-dorable, fashion-savvy ninth-grade crush, the margin for fashion error was slimmer than a pair of J Brand Skinny jeans.
“Did you ask him to go trick-or-treating yet?” Kristen pushed herself to her feet, then teetered to the far wall in platform Jimmy Choos to riffle through the hanging clothes. Polaroids of Merri-Lee wearing the outfits hung from the hangers, expiration dates inked in red.
“Not officially,” Massie admitted. “But we’ve been texting about hanging out tomorrow night. He’s probably just waiting for me to let him know the plan.” She nibbled her bottom lip, wishing she could sneak a quick text check.
“Josh’s been tweeting all week about how pumped he is to see me in my costume.” Alicia reached for a blood orange slice and popped it in her mouth.
“Derrington’s definitely coming,” Dylan announced, pretending to examine her flat-ironed red locks for split ends.
“Good.” Massie flashed a reassuring smile, to prove she was fine with Dylan and Kristen crushing on her exes. So getting two of her crushes stolen had left her with more trust issues than the U.S. Treasury. But thanks to her new subliminal confidence-building CD, Surviving Male Betrayal, she was guaranteed to lose those issues faster than Nicole Richie shed her baby weight. Or else Oprah and her book club would have some serious explaining to do.
Just then, a deep, evil laugh boomed from the intercom. “MUUUUUUUUAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAA.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” the whole PC screamed. Claire panic-flung a gummy foot across the room. Dylan grabbed the top off a Prada shoe box and held it in front of her like a shield. And Bean, Massie’s black pug, leapt off a bed of Hermès silk scarves and made a beeline to Massie, her red silk cape fluttering behind her like she was an ah-dorable superhero.
“Bean!” Massie swooped down to rescue her puppy. Bean’s custom white fangs tipped with OPI’s Vampire State Building polish chattered in fear.
Seconds later, Layne Abeley appeared in the arched double doorway in a ghouls just wanna have fun T-shirt and neon orange skinny jeans.
“Ehmagawd, Layne!” Massie said, her heart racing in her chest. “You almost gave Bean a heart attack!”
“Sorrrrrry.” Layne plopped down next to Claire like she belonged there.
The PC insta-grabbed their phones.
DYLAN: K, DID U INVITE LAYNE?
KRISTEN: NOPE. U?
ALICIA: THE SHIRT SUCKS.
DYLAN: AND THE PANTS BITE.☺
MASSIE: OUTFIT SHOULD B 6 FT UNDER.☺
DYLAN: WONDER IF C INVITED HER?
MASSIE: PROBS. JUST IGNORE HER.
Massie took a giant gulp of her Draculatte to wash down the guilt lump starting to form in her throat. The truth was that when Layne had complained in second-period French about not having a costume, Massie had mentioned where the PC would be after school. Which meant she’d semi-invited the LBR. But she hadn’t really had a choice. When Dylan and Kristen had stolen ex-Derrington and ex-Dempsey, Layne had produced her brother Chris Abeley’s ninth-grade friends. Including Landon Crane.
But most important, when Massie had been forced to hire actors for her new clique to make the old one jealous, Layne hadn’t told a soul (or a Soul-M8).
“What’re you guys supposed to be anyway?” Layne piped up, double-knotting the green glitter laces on her black Converse sneakers.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “We’re going as trampires.”
“Huh?” Layne’s under-plucked brows inched toward each other as she helped herself to the tray of bite-size brownies, blood oranges, and dark chocolate–covered popcorn.
“Trampires,” Alicia repeated, tightening the silver braided belt she wore over a strapless slate gray Alexander Wang dress. “Hawt vampires.” She’d ripped holes in a pair of Merri-Lee’s DKNY fishnets and painted tiny bite marks on her leg with a scarlet YSL lip liner. “Genius, right? Massie thought of it.”
Dylan smile-thanked Massie for the idea before yanking down the hem of her black Cosabella slip.
Massie beamed You’re welcome. This year, every girl in eighth was either dressing up like Bella Swan or one of the Cullen girls, which meant the vampire trend was deader than dead. So she’d added an alpha twist.
“I get the tramp part.” Layne inspected Claire’s lace-trimmed burgundy slip. “But what’s the pire part?”
“We’re not spray-tanning this year,” Massie explained. “So we’ll be super-pale.”
“Come on, Layne,” Claire said. “Let’s go find you a costume.” She pushed herself to her feet, then gripped Layne’s hands and pulled her up too.
“Okay. But nothing trampy.” She followed Claire up the spiral staircase to the second floor.
“Style-sucker,” Alicia called after them. Her dark hair looked glossier than usual in the candlelight.
“Ah-greed,” Massie giggled, settling on the floor next to Kristen. Being back together with her friends felt better than one of Jakkob’s post-highlight scalp massages. She pinky-swore to herself that she would never let crush issues crush the Pretty Committee again.
Massie’s iPhone buzzed again.
LANDON: IS BEAN UP 4 A DATE W/BARK 2MORROW NITE?
“Ehmacrush!” Massie giggle-beamed at her iPhone. She pulled Bean into her lap, fingering the silver charms that hung from the pug’s purple silk charm collar. The collar had been a gift from Landon and his pug, Bark Obama. Bean refused to go anywhere without it.
Kristen and Alicia dove toward Massie’s cell.
“Whasshesay?” Dylan wobbled across the closet and crouched behind Massie.
“You’re so gonna lip-kiss tomorrow night,” Alicia predicted.
“Prah-bly,” Massie said coyly, even though the thought of lip-kissing an older man made her gloss sweat.
Bean jumped from Massie’s lap and scampered in hyper circles around the girls, her tiny pink tongue flapping in the cacao-scented air.
“Hey!” Layne bellowed, bending over the railing above. She was wearing a long red silk bathrobe. “I’m Little Dead Riding Hood!” Claire was drawing bloody gashes on Layne’s face with a cheap Wet N Wild lip liner.
Massie held up a hand, silencing the chatter, then fired back a reply.
MASSIE: PAWS-IBLY.☺ BRING BARK BY MY HOUSE AT 7:45. TRICK-OR-TREATING STARTS AT 8.
LANDON: CAN’T. MOVIE SCARE-A-THON @ A FRIEND’S. WANNA JOIN?
“He wants me to hang out with his friends,” Massie said slowly. Her Draculatte swirled violently in her stomach.
Dylan’s dark chocolate–stained lips melted into a thin, pursed line. “What’re you gonna do?”
Bean stopped mid-circle and rapid-blinked at Massie.
Alicia and Kristen leaned forward slightly, begging her with wide eyes not to ditch them for her crush. Bean pleaded to see Bark, her black eyes round and moist with hope. “Bark!” she yapped, in case Massie didn’t get the point.
Massie reached for her latte, stalling for time. On the one hand, the thought of Landon not seeing her in her trampire costume made her blood run cold. On the other hand, hadn’t she just pinky-sworn to herself that she would never let a crush crush the Pretty Committee?
The drops of red food coloring staining the frothy white latte foam in her cup caught Massie’s eye, reminding her that she and the PC weren’t just friends. They were like blood-sisters. And blood-sisters didn’t desert their friends for boys. Not even if those boys were fashion-loving, pug-owning, ninth-grade-attending hawties.
She swallowed. “I’m obviously going trick-or-treating,” she said definitively, as if she’d never considered another option.
Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia breathed a sigh of relief, then fanned out to complete their costumes. Bean sulk-yapped, collapsing on the floor in defeat.
Before Massie could change her mind, she texted Landon.
Massie felt like someone was stiletto-stabbing her in the heart, then filling the hole with a million insecurities. She re-glossed quickly, to seal them in.
Bean lifted her head hopefully at the sound of Massie’s buzzing phone.
LANDON: WANNA BRING BEAN 2 THE SCARE-A-THON? AT LEAST THE PUPPIES CAN HANG. I’LL CHAPERONE.
Massie paused. She’d never let Bean out of her sight for an entire night before. But then again . . .
“Bean!” she said. “Want me to drop you off at Bark’s tomorrow?”
Bean leapt up and barreled full-force into Massie’s lap, her charm collar jangling happily.
Massie giggled, breathing in the warm scent of her puppy’s customized vanilla bean shampoo. At least if Massie couldn’t be with her crush on Halloween, Bean could be with hers. And if dropping Bean off at Landon’s led to a) Landon witnessing Massie looking ah-mazing in her trampire costume, b) Landon ditching his friends in favor of trick-or-treating with the PC, or c) Landon vowing never to leave Massie’s side again, then so be it.
Besides, there were other perks. Massie scratched underneath Bean’s collar, pinching the tiny silver dog-bone charm between her index finger and thumb. The charm was a SnoopDawg; it had a tiny camera inside that sent a video feed to the SnoopDawg Web site so pet owners could monitor their pets 24/7. All Massie had to do was activate the charm and check the site from her iPhone tomorrow night, and she could watch Bean’s every move.
And Landon’s.
Massie giggle-grinned to herself, feeling her insecurities retreat. It was the perfect way to keep an eye on her new crush. She knew it was sneaky, but who cared? She’d promised to work on her trust issues. And she would.
Starting Monday.
MASSIE’S CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN
OUT
Trampires
Vampires
Friday, Oct. 31st
Friday the 13th
SnoopDawg Charm Collar
Tiffany & Co. Charm Bracelet
BIG SHOUT OUT to KARLYE for posting such a thoughtful Thanksblogging list. If I can find this hamster before tomorrow I will be thankful in ways a mere top ten list can’t express.
Many hours of my day, every day, are spent staring at the wall (thankfully a soothing shade of light blue) scouring my brain for fresh ways to say the same old thing because I abhor cliche. Agreed, there are only sooo many ways to describe the feeling you get in your stomach when your crush enters the room. But I’ll be darned if I use the word “butterflies” to describe it. That said, I am going to do something incredibly cliche (just this once) and post a list of…..
The Ten Things I Am Most Thankful For in 2009
1. THANKFUL FOR: Friends who have become family and family who have become friends.
2. THANKFUL FOR: All of you. Thanks for reading. Thanks for laughing. Thanks for getting it.
3. THANKFUL FOR: We all survived another year!
4. THANKFUL FOR: I am still writing and still having a blast.
5. THANKFUL FOR: Everyone in this world who gives so much of themselves to help others.
6. THANKFUL FOR: Gelsons and your pre-cooked Turkey’s. I am having 17 people at my house for Thanksgiving and have no idea how to cook.
7. THANKFUL FOR: The 17 people have agreed to come to my house knowing I have no idea how to cook.
8. THANKFUL FOR: The person who hit me in his car while I was crossing the street on November 5th. I can’t move my neck but you didn’t kill me. Much appreciated.
9. THANKFUL FOR: The people who did me wrong this year. You taught me a lot about human nature and inspired me to search for ways to get over it. Those ways have made me a better, stronger person.
10.THANKFUL FOR: Heidi Pratt thanking God for her outfit while saying Grace in a recent episode of The Hills. I needed a good laugh.
SHOUT OUT to Alexandra B. Happy Birthday!!!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!! PLEASE POST YOUR OWN LISTS. I’D LOVE TO READ THEM>
If you’re reading this then you probably noticed my website has been updated. Isn’t it fab??? We have the ah-mazing Webmaster JJ to thank for that. SHOUT OUT TO JJ! THANK YOU! YOU DID A GREAT JOB. Not only is it POTO but it’s POTI as well. We are still updating some of the sections like the Clique area and the photos but it’s definitely getting there. Most of you are beyond web savvy but for those of you computer LBRs, click on the photos to see the captions and click on the books for descriptions.
I am making a fresh new e-mail list so if you want to be on it and get special messages from moi, please hightail it back to the homepage and make yourself a Gold Card member. And speaking of mail, I am AWN IT! I’m not kidding. All of you ah-mazing GLUs who wrote to me over the last year are finally getting something back. No, it’s not your own GLOSSIP GIRL subscription. It’s a long letter and this autographed card…
A lot of you were asking for a signed photo and I just couldn’t do it. Something about sending a glossy photo of myself felt a little cheesy so I had an artist make this based on a real photo of me. Here’s the original.
He completely captured the image. Right down to my big toe and how it’s slipping off my sandal. If I wasn’t already C PLUS I might want to marry the guy.
BTW if some of my language in this Blah-G seems a little hard to understand pick up a copy of the Cliquetionary and all will be revealed.
If “sorry” were people I’d be Times Square on New Years Eve. That’s how sorry I am for Blah-g Bailing yesterday. But I have an award-winning excuse. I was curing cancer. Okay, well, that’s a huge exaggeration but I was being honored by the Israeli Cancer Research Fund (ICRF) at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. It’s an amazing charity that raises money for scientists in Israel to find a cure for cancer. If you know anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer, who has either been cured or is in remission, there’s a good chance its because of the work these scientists have done. Work they can afford to do because of people’s donations. The point is they gave me this award yesterday because they decided I’m a (are you sitting?) “Woman of Action.” That’s right. They gave me a cool award for, well, it’s kind of hard to explain so I am posting my speech and maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll also manage to forgive me for my late post. I mean, as far as excuses go, mine is a 10, don’cha think???
SHOUT OUT TO HANNAH DREW. She’s a twelve year old girl who sang at the fundraiser yesterday. Trust me, she’s going to be famous one day. This sister can sing!
Oh one more thing…I’ll be speaking this Saturday at the Newport Beach Public Library at 11am. Come say hi.
Okay, and now for my speech….
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE AT ICRF FOR YOUR INCREDIBLE DEDICATION. THE WORK YOU ARE SUPPORTING RESONATES WITH ME AS I HAVE LOST A GRANDMOTHER AND TWO GREAT GRANDMOTHERS TO CANCER. I ALSO WANT TO THANK YOU FOR THIS TREMENDOUS HONOR. AN HONOR, THAT IF I’M BEING COMPLETELY HONEST, I HAVE BEEN STRUGGLING WITH FOR MONTHS.
TYPICALLY, FOR ME, THE PHRASE “WOMAN OF ACTION” CONJURES IMAGES OF A FUNDRAISER, A POLICY MAKER, A FREEDOM FIGHTER, OR A HUSSY.AND I AM NONE OF THOSE. IN FACT, OVER THE PAST 2 ½ YEARS I’VE STRUGGLED TO BALANCE A CROSS COUNTRY MOVE, TWO YOUNG BOYS, THE PURCHASE OF A NEW HOUSE, THIRTEEN BOOK DEADLINES, AND COUNTLESS UNRETURNED PHONE CALLS…
IF ANYTHING I’VE BEEN A “WOMAN OF DIS-TRACTION”.
AFTER FURTHER ANALYSIS, I DECIDED–THIS HAS GOT TO BE ABOUT MY FAMILY—I MEAN, IF GIVING WERE A SPORT, THEY’D NEED HELMETS! THESE PEOPLE ARE EXTREME!
THEY INJECTED PURPOSE INTO EVERYTHING THEY DID AND CONSEQUENTLY, EVERYTHING I DID. AS A TEENAGER A PERCENTAGE OF MY ALLOWANCE WAS ALLOCATED TO CHARITY, I VOLUNTEERED AT BAYCREST HOME FOR THE AGED, I DONATED MY BAT MITZVAH MONEY TO ETHIOPIAN JEWS, AND EVERY TIME I CURSED I HAD TO PUT MONEY IN THE CHARITY BOX. THANKS TO MY AFFINITY FOR FOUR LETTER WORDS, KIDS IN THIRD WORLD COUNTRIES ARE NOW ENJOYING THREE MEALS A DAY, WITH SNACKS.
BUT IT WASN’T UNTIL I FELT COMPELLED TO JUSTIFY MY PLACE AT THIS PODIUM THAT I DISCOVERED–AS MY LIFE MOVED FORWARD I WAS STILL GIVING BACK! I JUST DIDN’T REALIZE IT BECAUSE IT CAME ABOUT ORGANICALLY AND IT WASN’T TAX DEDUCTABLE.
FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEARS I HAVE BEEN WRITING NOVELS FOR YOUNG ADULTS. NOVELS INTENDED TO CLOT HEMORRHAGING SELF-ESTEEMS AND MITIGATE THE PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE TWEEN GIRLS INFLICT ON THEMSELVES AND OTHERS.
SURPRISINGLY, IT WASN’T THE HAUNTING MEMORY OF MY OWN ADOLESCENCE THAT INSPIRED THE CLIQUE SERIES, BUT RATHER, THE TWELVE YEARS I SPENT PRODUCING TELEVISION AT MTV NETWORKS IN NEW YORK.
I STARTED WHEN I WAS 23 AND BELIEVE ME, I SAW A LOT. MOST OF THE SHOCKING BEHAVIOR, HOWEVER, DIDN’T COME FROM THE ROCK STARS OR CELEBRITIES I WORKED WITH. IT CAME FROM MY COLLEAGUES. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, THERE WAS A COMPANY-WIDE NEED OR RATHER, A LONGING TO BE FABULOUS. IT WAS PALPABLE.
THIS LONGING DICTATED THE WARDROBES, WORK ETHICS, AND PRIORITIES OF EVERYONE I WORKED WITH. PROMOTIONS FELT MORE LIKE POPULARITY CONTESTS THAN REWARDS FOR A JOB WELL DONE. THE DRESS CODE WAS ‘NO FULL FRONTAL NUDITY’. AND THE FOOD PYRAMID WAS BUILT ON FRAPPUCCINOS AND CAMEL LIGHTS. IT WAS SURVIVAL OF THE COOLEST.
I HAVE COUNTLESS EXAMPLES OF SITTING IN MEETINGS WITH MY BOSSES AND WATCHING THEM SEND BLACKBERRY MESSAGES TO EACH OTHER WHILE A PRODUCER WAS PITCHING AN IDEA. SECONDS LATER THEY’D BURST INTO LAUGHTER, MAKING THE PRODUCER WANT TO RUN STRAIGHT FOR THE BATHROOM FOR A STALL-SOB.
ANOTHER POPULAR THING AT MTV WAS EMAIL-JACKING. IF SOMEONE LEFT THEIR OFFICE DOOR OPEN, PEOPLE WOULD SNEAK IN AND REPLY TO THEIR EMAIL. ONE AFTERNOON I RETURNED FROM LUNCH TO FIND I HAD APPARENTLY TOLD THE VP OF PROGRAMMING THAT I COULDN’T BE AT HIS 3PM MEETING BECAUSE I WOULD BE GETTING A COLONOSCOPY. I DID, HOWEVER, OFFER TO ATTEND VIA VIDEOCONFERENCE DURING THE PROCEDURE.
LIKE ANY KIND OF PRACTICAL JOKE, IT WAS HILARIOUS UNTIL IT HAPPENED TO ME.
HUMILIATION. PEER PRESSURE. WARDROBE PRESSURE. DEGRADATION. AND BETRAYAL. AFTER ELEVEN YEARS OF THIS SOMETHING STRUCK ME—I WAS BACK IN MIDDLE SCHOOL.
SURE, THE DETAILS OF MY LIFE WERE DIFFERENT THAN THOSE OF A MIDDLE SCHOOLERS, BUT THE EMOTIONS WERE THE SAME.
FOR EXAMPLE:
WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN FAILING A TEST YOU STUDIED FOR AND LOSING A PROMOTION YOU THOUGHT YOU DESERVED?
WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LEARNING THAT YOUR CRUSH LIKES YOUR BEST FRIEND AND FINDING OUT YOUR POTENTIAL SOULMATE IS MARRIED.
AND FINALLY, WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A SLEEPOVER YOU WEREN’T INVITED TO AND THE BUNKO GROUP THAT DIDN’T ASK YOU TO JOIN?
WHEN IT COMES TO EMOTION, THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE. THIS REVELATION AND MY NEED TO SHARE IT INSPIRED THE CLIQUE AND ALPHAS.
THESE SERIES, WHICH WHEN COMBINED CONSIST OF 21 BOOKS AND COUNTING, ARE ABOUT PRIVILEGED 12 YEAR OLD PRIVATE SCHOOL GIRLS AND THEIR EXHAUSTING EFFORTS TO STAY ON TOP. OR RATHER, THE CRAZY THINGS WE DO—AND I MEAN WEEEEEEE— DO FOR ACCEPTANCE.
HOWEVER, AS ADULTS, WE HAVE BEEN FORTIFIED WITH WISDOM, IRONY, AND ENOUGH BIG PICTURE PERSPECTIVE TO KNOW THAT TRAGEDIES LIKE MEAN GIRLS, STOLEN CRUSHES, EMBARRASSING RELATIVES, AND BAD HAIR DAYS AREN’T END-OF-THE-WORLD PROBLEMS. BUT LET’S FACE IT, WHEN YOU’RE A TWEEN, AND HAVEN’T BEEN WATCHING OPRAH FOR TWO DECADES, IT’S HARD TO FIND MEANING IN FAILURE.
IN REAL LIFE, CLIQUES ARE DEEPLY PAINFUL AND DAMAGING. AND DRAMATIC, RAW ACCOUNTS OF BULLYING ARE NO FUN TO READ ABOUT WHEN YOU’RE LIVING THE NIGHTMARE EVERY DAY. WHICH IS WHY I CHOSE HUMOR TO GET MY MESSAGE ACROSS…IT’S A SPOONFUL OF SPLENDA TO HELP THE MEDICINE GO DOWN.
IF YOU’RE READING A NOVEL ABOUT THE SO-CALLED ‘PERFECT GIRLS’ AND DISCOVER THEY’RE JUST AS INSECURE, AWKWARD, AND CONFUSED AS YOU ARE, YOU WON’T FEEL AS ISOLATED. AND WHEN YOU FIND OUT THEY WEAR WATER BRAS THAT ACCIDENTALLY BURST IN CLASS, YOU MIGHT EVEN SMILE AND TAKE COMFORT IN THE FACT THAT WE’RE ALL A LEAKY MESS ON THE INSIDE.
I AM PLEASED TO SAY THIS MESSAGE IS RESONATING.
I GET OVER FIVE THOUSAND LETTERS A YEAR FROM GIRLS TELLING ME THAT MY BOOKS HAVE HELPED THEM NAVIGATE MIDDLE SCHOOL. MANY HAVE LEARNED TO STOP RELINQUISHING THEIR POWER TO BULLIES, WHILE OTHERS HAVE CALLED THEIR OWN BEHAVIOR INTO QUESTION AND MADE NECESSARY CHANGES. THEY UNDERSTAND THAT THE ABUNDANCE OF MATERIALISM AND HOLLOW CONSUMERISM I WRITE ABOUT IS NOT SOMETHING I AM ENDORSING BUT RATHER A SAD COMMENTARY ON OUR SOCIETY. THEY UNDERSTAND THAT BULLIES BULLY BECAUSE THEY ARE INSECURE. MORE IMPORTANTLY, THEY UNDERSTAND THAT THEY’RE NOT ALONE.
OVER ONE MILLION GIRLS HAVE VISITED LISIHARRISON.COM AND HAVE FORMED A MASSIVE VIRTUAL CLIQUE THAT I AM INCREDIBLY PROUD OF. EVERY WEDNESDAY I POST A NEW BLOG THAT FOCUSES ON MY OWN STRUGGLES WITH SELF-ESTEEM, PRESSURE, AND FRUSTRATION. AND THEY RESPOND WITH STORIES OF THEIR OWN. WITH A “ZERO TOLERANCE FOR MEAN GIRLS RULE” IT’S BECOME A SAFE PLACE FOR BUDDING WRITERS TO GET FEEDBACK ON THEIR FICTION. A PLACE TO GET ADVICE ON BOYS, FRIENDS, AND UNFAIR TEACHERS. A PLACE TO GRIEVE OVER A LOST PET. AND SOON, A PLACE FOR ME TO SELL MERCHANDISE AND RAISE MORE MONEY FOR ICRF.
TEACHERS AND LIBRARIANS REACH OUT TO TELL ME THAT THEIR STUDENTS ARE READING MORE THAN EVER. AND MOTHERS ARE USING THE BOOKS AS AN OPPORTUNITY TO OPEN A DIALOGUE WITH THEIR DAUGHTERS ABOUT SOCIAL PRESSURE.
DID I KNOW THIS WOULD HAPPEN WHEN I WROTE THE FIRST CLIQUE BOOK IN 2002? OF COURSE NOT. BUT THE OLD SAYING, “WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW” REALLY MEANS WRITE WHAT YOU FEEL. OR RATHER, DO WHAT YOU FEEL.
IN 2002, I MET MY EDITOR FOR DRINKS. HE ASKED ME ONE LAST TIME IF I WAS PREPARED TO LEAVE A SECURE JOB AT MTV TO TAKE A CHANCE ON LITERATURE.
“EW, NO!” I SAID.
HE PUT DOWN HIS CHARDONNAY AND GLARED AT ME THE WAY SOMEONE DOES AFTER YOU HAVE JUST WASTED MONTHS OF THEIR LIFE FOR NO REASON.
“I HAVE NO DESIRE TO WRITE LITERATURE,” I SAID.I WANT TO WRITE SOMETHING GIRLS CAN RELATE TO. SOMETHING THEY’LL WANT TO READ. SOMETHING THAT WILL HELP THEM. NAWT LITERATURE.”
MY EDITOR—A REAL NORTON ANTHOLOGY KIND OF GUY, ATTEMPTED TO LAUGH LIKE HE WASN’T INSULTED. IT SOUNDED LIKE A MOAN.
BUT I ALWAYS KNEW, NO MATTER WHAT MEDIUM I WORKED IN, THAT I WANTED TO GIVE PEOPLE THEIR MEDICINE WITH PLENTY OF SPLENDA. NOT BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK THEY WERE CAPABLE OF SWALLOWING IT STRAIGHT UP. BUT BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD BE AS MUCH FUN.
WHETHER YOU WRITE, FUNDRAISE, RAISE CHILDREN, VOLUNTEER IN WAR TORN COUNTRIES, OR RECYCLE, IF YOU ARE COMING FROM THAT SPECIAL PLACE WHERE PASSION AND ACTION UNITE, YOU’RE MAKING A DIFFERENCE, AND DESERVE A LUNCHEON AT THE FOUR SEASONS IN BEVERLY HILLS. YOU MAY NOT FEEL THE NEED TO HOLD A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE HOSTAGE WHILE YOU TAKE A JOY RIDE DOWN THE HIGHWAY OF SELF-EXPLORATION. BUT AS WRITER THAT’S WHAT I DO.
