Do You Have 30 Seconds of Spare Time? I Need Your Help.

Hey there — do you have an Amazon account?  Do you not mind blindly nominating something?  Are you capable of finding a blue button and clicking?

Then I have the task for you!

Ladies and gentleman, my very first manuscript is officially part of a Kindle Scout campaign.  It’s been a serious comedy of errors from the get-go, complete with an 11th hour, “Hey, your synopsis — your 500 word synopsis? — yeah, we meant 500 character synopsis.”  But my fingers are crossed that all this mad dashing and nutty-ness will lead to something.

How does this work?  My book is on a 30-day campagin and the Kindle Scout team will consider my book for publication after its campaign ends.  While it’s a little more complicated than, “nominations = publication,” the more nominations I receive, the more favorably they will look upon said book.

So — please, please, please, look at this noise, I’m actually begging — click any one of the links I have going on, and click “Nominate Me”.  That’s it.  It’s as simple as that.  If you have an Amazon account, you don’t have to sign up for anything.  And — really — who doesn’t have an Amazon account these days?  Even the Amish appreciate Amazon’s vast selection and convenience.  Even Isis is like, “Death to America!  But thank you, dudes in Seattle, for making Amazon.com.”

You can do a lot of things once you click that link.  You can read my 500-character version of my synopsis (the 500-word synopsis is down below), you can read a few Q&As, and you can stare at my picture in awe.  Or disgust.  You can also do none of those things and just click “Nominate Me”.  Quite frankly?  I’m not too concerned.

So do it already!  Also, here’s my full(er) synopsis:

ChickLit

Is chick literature nothing more than easy beach reads, or can we learn something about ourselves through them?

Life hasn’t changed much for Katy Sinclaire. Years after she graduated college, Katy still lives with her old university roommate and still works at the same bookstore that she’s been with since she was a teenager. It is an increasingly unsatisfying life, but it is a life that she does not question. That is, until a chain of events forces Katy to confront the painful truth: she is going absolutely, positively, nowhere. She realizes that she needs to do something with her life, and now.

Only one problem: Katy has absolutely, positively, no idea what the first step should be.

The other problem? From her harebrained misadventures, to her chisel-jawed boyfriend, to her best guy friend (who is not-so-secretly in love with her), Katy’s life starts mimicking the very chick literature she mocks at the bookstore. Only life isn’t as predictable as a storybook, a lesson Katy is forced to learn as she desperately tries to figure out her purpose in life – if such a purpose even exists.

On a serious note: I wrote this puppy way back in 2010.  It’s been a wild ride since.  I’ve probably queried over 150 agents over the span of four-something years, edited and re-edited, proofread until my eyes went cross-eyed, submitted to far too many contests.  It would be really nice to finally give this book a proper publishing ground.  I really do appreciate every single nomination — so your 30 seconds really would mean the world to me.

Okay, enough serious talk.  Here’s a puppy clamouring over a cat:

Seasonally Affected

I have a desperate desire for the sun.  I do not care if my feet are in boots or sandals, my shoulders bare or covered in layers.  I need a reason for sunglasses across the bridge of my nose — because it creates an easy smile across my face.

I’ve noticed I can stave off a cold or a stomach bug until the weather turns.  I find I am nomadic with the sun but restless with the clouds.  I find that the overcast days are actually harder than days that bring about blizzards and storms.  The rumble of the thunder resonates with my heart.  The mist from an overcast day only brings me down.

They say seasonal affective disorder was once an evolutionary advantage — those who remained listless when the weather was bad were more likely to survive.  I say I need windows open, natural light pouring in.  I need to feel my cheeks flush with high noon rays.  I need to put on sunscreen and feel my freckles rise up like daisies after the winter.  And, if I’m not going to see the sun, then give me excitement.  Give me lightning if I can’t get sunlight.  If life is about learning to dance in the rain as opposed to waiting for the storm to pass, soak me to the bone when I go outside.  Then bring out the sun to dry me off.

I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Men: Written About in a Blog Post

800px-A_small_cup_of_coffee

I like my coffee like I like my men: caffeinated.

I like my coffee like I like my men: French.  Or Cuban.  Or Colombian.  Or Hazelnut… wait…

I like my coffee like I like my men: in a way Europeans would frown upon.

I like my coffee like I like my men: READILY AVAILABLE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING OR ELSE I’M GRUMPY.

I like my coffee like I like my men: in a cup with a straw!  Wait…

I like my coffee like I like my men: from Dunkin Donuts.

I like my coffee like I like my men: available for pick-up at a drive-thru.

I like my coffee like I like my men: certainly not strong, rich, dark, or creamy because seriously everyone makes those jokes and they are so overdone I mean oh my God and what the hell would creamy even entail I don’t wanna know but now I feel like I should go to church.

I like my coffee like I like my men: hot.

I like my coffee like I like my men: iced.
(Oooh I’m kidding.  I prefer half ice.  You get more coffee that way.)
(…you get more man that way?)

I like my coffee like I like my men: next to me in my car.  Preferably in the cup holder.
(What?)

I like my coffee like I like my men: in a way that might hint at addiction.

I like my coffee like I like my men: in a way that gives me a headache.

I like my coffee like I like my men: available at your local convenience store.

I like my coffee like I like my men: purchasable by the pound.

I like my coffee like I like my men: created in a percolator. Wait…

I like my coffee like I like my men: extra crispy and on practically everything.  No, wait: that’s how I like my bacon.