Book Trailer Fridays - Caroline Leavitt & Pictures of You

Hope you're all enjoying the holidays!

I've been busy working on J's Christmas present like crazy this week. If I can manage to keep it a secret for another twelve hours or so, it may actually be the first year ever, that he hasn't found out about his gift before Christmas. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

This week's book trailer is for Caroline Leavitt's book PICTURES OF YOU, which is currently at the top of my TBR pile.



I love how eerie the trailer is!

Here's what critics are saying about PICTURES OF YOU:

"Caroline Leavitt plumbs the depths of grief and forgiveness in the lovely Pictures Of You."  

~Vanity Fair, Hot Type

"Suspenseful...gripping. Leavitt is superb at revealing the secrecy inside many marriages and the way children grieve; several moving scenes involve Sam, who has come to imagine Isabelle as a crash scene "angel" who will take him to his mother. Most impressive is how Leavitt deals head-on with well-meaning people who come to realize, too late, that even an imperfect life is irreplaceable."  

~Jane Ciabattari, O, the Oprah Magazine

What's on your To Be Read pile?

Wordless Wednesday - Snow!

Book Trailer Fridays - Claire Cook & Seven Year Switch!

I'm not sure if book trailers are something people outside of the writer/book blogger world are very aware of. Every time I mentioned the book trailer for STAY during the production process, people would ask what a book trailer is.

It's simple! A book trailer is like a movie trailer, but for a book! Lots of authors produce them, and they're a great way to get a feel for a new book.

For my very first Book Trailer Friday post, here's the trailer to one of my favorite books this year: SEVEN YEAR SWITCH, by Claire Cook.



About the Book:

Just when Jill Murray's finally figured out how to manage on her own, her ex-husband proves that he can't even run away reliably. After seven long years missing in action, he's back -- crashing into the man-free existence Jill and her ten-year-old daughter have built so carefully. And what's a good mother to do? To a child, even a deadbeat dad is better than no dad at all.

Jill's life just hasn't turned out quite the way she planned. By now, she'd hoped to be jetting around the world as a high-end cultural coach. Instead, she's answering phones for a local travel agency and teaching cooking classes at the community center.

Enter free-spirited entrepreneur Billy, who hires Jill as a consultant for an upcoming business trip. Is their relationship veering off in a new direction? And what about her ex? Jill couldn't possibly still have feelings for him . . . could she? Suddenly, her no-boys-allowed life is anything but.

They say that every seven years you become a completely new person, but Jill isn't sure she's ready for the big change. It takes a Costa Rican getaway to help her make a choice -- not so much between the two men in her life, but between the woman she is and the one she wants to be.

Here's what critics are saying about SEVEN YEAR SWITCH:

“Cook tells this involving story of forgiveness and acceptance with heart, charm, and characters you can’t help but root for.” —Booklist

“Bestseller Cook charms again with this lively warm-hearted look at changing courses mid-life.” —People

“A lot of fun to read? Definitely!”
-Redbook

And here's a clip of Claire on the Today Show! She is such an inspiration!

"Oh, I can gather all the news I need from the weather report..."

Well, I still haven't made it to Ithaca to see Marty. Stupid weather!


It snowed, then it rained, then it all iced up and snowed some more.  Since hearing about the drivers who got stuck in their cars outside of Buffalo for TWELVE HOURS, I've become a big huge wimp about traveling in this weather.


I'm done being intrepid. Wimpy is fine by me. Cold temps, no food, small bladder, and the lack of bathrooms aside, the idea of being stuck with myself in a car that's not moving for twelve hours is terrifying! I don't do sitting in the car well. I've loaded up the crapmobile with books and a sleeping bag, just in case I get stranded between here and Wegmans and have to spend 20 minutes stuck in my car.


It's early for this kind of weather here.  I'm crossing my fingers and toes that it means an early spring.


Here's some other stuff that's been going on:

• I was asked to join The Fiction Writers Co-op, which is a group of "53 authors of distinguished, award-winning, and best-selling fiction," and, I am completely and totally in awe of the other writers in the group.  We've put together a holiday gift guide for the bookish types on your list.  The full list is over at Judy Merrill Larsen's blog - Buy a Book! You Can't Give More Enchantment For Less.  
•  I'm addicted to Ally McBeal on Hulu.  How did I not watch this show when it was on?  Juicy, complicated love triangle involving a college love, neurotic main character with an overactive imagination and an awesome name (even though she spells it wrong) - so great!  I've been watching it while I walk on the treadmill, and as a result, have put in some serious mileage.  
• I pretty much just want to hug Peter MacNicol and confess all my weird habits to him.
• Actually, I know why I didn't watch Ally McBeal while it was on.  When I moved to Jersey, one of my roommates was all, "Oh, I don't watch television. I don't need cable." And then when I got cable on my own anyway, she hogged the TV to watch Ally McBeal and was all, "Oh, I don't watch television except for Ally McBeal."  So being the fabulously mature person I was at 21, I decided it had to be a perfectly awful show and complained every time she watched it.
• J got me a new sewing machine as an (early) Christmas present.  My old one wasn't really a sewing machine as much as vehicle of mental torment that never failed to make me swear and cry.  I'd spend three hours fiddling with it for two minutes of uninterrupted sewing.  Then something would snap and thread, obscenities, and tears, would explode everywhere.  I couldn't figure out why other people seemed to enjoy sewing.  The new machine actually allows me to, you know, sew, and I get it now.  Amazing.  
• Yesterday, I made a really cute skirt out of an old sweater (expect a Greenists post about it soon).  It took me all of twenty minutes, and I didn't cry once.  (I still cursed, because I jabbed myself with a pin, but that's not the machine's fault).
• Over the weekend, I made Argo & Stella a super huge dog bed they can both fit on, but Stella likes to spread out and hog it completely.  

• I'm reading an ARC of ATTACHMENTS by Rainbow Rowell, which will be out in April 2011.  It's hysterical and I want to be friends with all the main characters.   
• Yes, getting to read books before they hit shelves is one of the best parts of being a huge book nerd who writes books.

Yes, I know. I talk funny.

I grew up thinking I didn't have an accent.  People from Queens have an accent.  I grew up in Somers.  There's no such thing as a Somers accent!

But then I went to Ithaca College, and lots of conversations followed this script:

Me: saying something
Other person: Huh?
Me: repeating something.
Other person: What?
Me: repeating something again, faster and with great frustration.
Other person: WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?
Me: spelling the important words.
Other person:  Oh! You mean [corrected pronunciation]

My favorite example of this was a discussion about a club called The Haunt, in downtown Ithaca.  The closest approximation of what I called it is probably Hawnt.  I still don't understand why it was that big of an issue to understand what I was saying when I asked "Are we going to The Hawnt tonight?"  Still, I got teased about the way I said words like haunt, awful, terrible, and coffee, enough that I started concentrating on neutralizing the way I talked.  Or tawked, depending on where you're from.

By the time I moved to Rochester, I felt confident that I was pretty much devoid of accent.  But, apparently, the idioms were still there.

At Wegmans.  A woman is standing a few feet away from the nearest checkout line.

Me:  Are you on line?
Her: Huh?
Me:  Are you waiting on line?
Her: I'm not on the computer.

Context clues, people!  Context clues!  Obviously, I wasn't asking her if she was surfing the 'net in the middle of a grocery store (this was pre-smart phone days).  And before you get all "It's in line, not on line," I would like to point out that I've heard news anchors downstate say "on line."  Downstate people spend a lot more time waiting on line at stores, movie theatres, etc., than upstate people do, due to population density and an infrastructure that was never intended to handle that level of density, so I think they should win on how to describe the experience.  Even though I've switched to saying in line to avoid constant conversations like the one above, I'm not saying I think it's correct.  I'm just trying to blend. It doesn't mean I like it.

Also, when ever I said "tag sale" when I first moved up here, people would crinkle up their forehead and look at me like I just landed from Jupiter.  Not all "yard sales" take place in a yard.  In fact, most people hold tag sales in their garage/driveway, not on the yard, so "yard sale" doesn't even make sense!  But most people do use some sort of sticker/tag system to price the things at their household sales, therefore tag sale makes perfect sense.  But, again, blending. . . sigh.

And then there are the Rochesterisms.  I didn't know how to say any of the neighboring towns when I first moved up here.

• Chili is pronounced Chai-lie, and has an annual Chili Chil-E festival.
• The town of Avon is pronounced more like Ah-von than Avon.  
• Ginna, home of the Ginna Nuclear Generating Station, is pronounced /ɡɨˈneɪ/ gi-nay, with the g as in give (according to Wikipedia, because I had no idea how to write it out phonetically) 
• Charlotte is Char-lot and there's even a jingle for a local appliance store that goes "Charlotte! You'll save a lot!" And it rhymes perfectly.  Which means I can no longer pronounce Charlotte, NC correctly anymore without thinking about it first.

There are, however, some things I won't budge on:

1. It's not pop.  It's soda.  I'm sorry.  It just is.
2. It's tin foil.  I know it's not actually made from tin anymore, but aluminum foil just takes too long to say, and when you're asking someone to get you some tin foil, it's usually an oh, crap! I need to put this food away, but said food is on my hands and I don't want to open the drawer and get food fingerprints everywhere situation.  Time is of the essence.  Shorthand is helpful.  Besides, Coca-Cola isn't actually made with cocaine anymore, but we still call it Coke (which is a soda, by the way). 
3. A-u-n-t = ant not ahnt.  Saying ahnt makes you sound like you're from Connecticut.*
4. It's not Or-ange, it's Are-ange.  And yeah, I know that Or-ange is the same spelling as the actual word, but lots of words aren't pronounced as they are spelled.  Like Aunt.

But J says Or-ange, and teases me all the time about my pronunciation.  We had another discussion about it last night:

Me:  O-R-A-N-G-E really is pronounced Are-ange.  Otherwise the joke doesn't make sense.
J: The Orange you glad I didn't say banana again joke?
Me:  Yes.
J:  That joke is not a style guide.


*Not that there's anything wrong with being from Connecticut. Some of my best friends are from Connecticut.  I'm just joking around.  But, please note the way it's spelled and the fact that it's not pronounced ConneCt-ticut?  See, my O-R-A-N-G-E argument has some teeth, J.  It really does.

Dear Weather, Bite me. Love, Allie

Okay, so you know how yesterday, thanks to the crazy wind I basically mooned the mail lady and got hit in the head with a door?

Well, today Mr. Weather tricked me into spending four hours in the car just to grab a cup of coffee at the exit 42 Wilson Farms gas station off I-90.  I was supposed to go to Ithaca to have lunch with my friend, Marty.  I haven't seen him in ages, and he was so sweet to plan out a wonderful and gluten-free lunch for us (he's the most amazing cook I know, by the way).

It was going to be so great to see him and catch up.  I decided to leave early, so I could bum around town for an hour or so before lunch and take a few pictures to post for you, so if you've never been to Ithaca, you'd be able to see that Ithaca is Gorges.

The weather report didn't look great when I got up this morning, but it promised a high of 52 degrees, rain, and then snow showers with temperatures dropping into the upper 20s tonight.  No biggie, right?  I've lived in Rochester for almost eleven years, and I spent two years in Ithaca in my late teens.  I qualify as a Western New Yorker now.  I'm intrepid.  The Crapmobile doesn't always start, but it does have four wheel drive.  I had Peter Mulvey in the CD player and snacks on the passenger seat.  I wasn't going to let a little rain and sleet keep me from seeing my friend.

I stopped at Wegmans on my way out of town, and when I got back to the car, it was snowing, and it certainly wasn't 52 degrees.  By the time I got to I-90, it was REALLY snowing.  But, hey, people drive in snow all the time.  And I drive like a little old lady anyway.  People are nicer about that when there's snow on the ground.

By exit 44, it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead of me.  But, I'm intrepid, I told myself.

By exit 43, the roads were clearer, and it was more rain than snow.

I got off at exit 42 thinking, That wasn't so bad, and looking forward to the twisty, picturesque drive through the Finger Lakes.  I decided to stop at the gas station to fuel up and grab some coffee, and when I stopped, I checked my e-mail.  There was a message from Marty saying that Ithaca was having bad flooding and they'd started closing roads.  When I gave him a call, he said, "It's not that the roads are bad . . . it's that they aren't there."

I may be intrepid, and the Crapmobile may have four wheel drive, but it is not an amphibious vehicle.  So, me and my gas station coffee turned around and headed back to Rochester, just in time to hear Peter Mulvey sing "We got the news, Ithaca got snow . . . It was just that kind of day," because, you know, I needed someone to rub it in.

Instead of pictures of gorges and The Commons, you get this:

And this:

There's a joke that in Rochester there are two seasons, winter and road work.  But December 'tis the season when winter and road work collide, so it took me twice as long to get back home as it did to get to exit 42.

By exit 43, it was bad.

By exit 44 it was awful.

Just before exit 45, there was a multiple-car accident smack in the middle lane.

When I got to 490, it was a sheet of ice.   I exited and took backroads where everyone was moving at a rate of one mile per millennium, and by the time I got into Rochester, it looked like this:

And when I got home, it was lunchtime.  Instead of catching up with Marty over his homemade Cornish game hen and lentil/barley soup, I got to eat a freezer-burned microwave meal (that I'm pretty sure Stella licked when I wasn't looking) while re-watching the Ally McBeal episode I slept through last night.  Whatever I can stick in the microwave and old TV shows (and Stella trying to eat my food) is par for the course when it comes to lunch around here, and on most days, it's fine by me, but in contrast to the beautiful, bright, warm plans I had, it was rather disappointing.

So, if you live somewhere with nice sunny winters and have warm fuzzy feelings about the idea of snow, I'd totally be willing to swap houses with you for the next few months to cure you of your affinity for snow once and for all.  Really, I'd be happy to help.