Readers Rock!

How so? Well, for starters, readers tend to be very well-traveled. For them, a trip to Venice, Paris, or New Orleans is as close as the local library. I, personally, have traveled the world many times over through books.

 

Also, readers are never alone--unless they choose to be. I always carry a whole cast of fascinating characters with me where ever I go. They make me laugh. They make me cry. They comfort me. They inspire me. They're like friends. In my purse. (If you ask me, interesting people who fit into your purse and have no need for food, drink, bathrooms, or medication, are highly desirable friends.)

 

What's more, I've learned almost everything I know by reading: how to cook, sew, grow a garden, build a pond, and yes, how to write. You can learn just about anything from books--except for maybe how to dance. If a reader can learn anything, then a reader can do anything--except dance, of course.

 

For example, I have a friend who once needed $3,000 worth of repairs on her car. She didn't have the $3,000. So, she spent $30 on a book about how to repair her car and did it herself! (This particular reader can probably dance, too--she's just that kind of girl.)

 

The point? There's no limit to where a reader can go, the kinds of people they can get to know, or what they can learn and accomplish! The more we read, the more we know, the better we do, and the farther we go! The future only grows bigger, brighter, and more promising for readers.

 

For that reason, I'm partnering with Amazon to donate my new novel, Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom & the Challenges of Bad Hair, to WorldReader. For every copy of the book sold by Amazon, another copy will be donated to children in the developing world. Additionally, Amazon is offering the hardcover at 75% off right now, so for $4.25, you get a book and you give a book! Books--and big, bright futures--for all! (Click here to purchase: http://www.amazon.com/Lula-Bell-Geekdom-Freakdom-Challenges/dp/0761462252/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1354632507&sr=1-1&keywords=lula+bell+on+geekdom) Merry Christmas, dear readers! Rock on!

 



An Interactive Thanksgiving

Oh how I wish I could invite every single one of you to my house for Thanksgiving, so that I could thank you in person for your friendship, readership, support, and encouragement! I would feed you and fuss over you until both your belly and your heart are full to bursting--and then I would load you up with leftovers to take home, as is the southern way!

 

But since my house isn't anywhere near as big as my gratitude, instead, I am offering to visit, read, speak, and sign books at any Kentucky school that can get a minimum of 100 students to order Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom & the Challenges of Bad Hair (for signing) during the month of November.

 

For those of you outside of Kentucky, I am offering to phone-in or Skype with any book club that selects Lula Bell... for reading during the month of November (you don't have to read in November; you just have to select the book for your reading list).

 

I'm giving away three copies of Lula Bell...on www.goodreads.com (winners will be randomly selected by goodreads).

 

Finally, I'll send autographed copies of both my novels to the person who has referred the most subscribers to my blog ( www.wherethebluegrassgrows.blogspot.com ) by midnight on November 30. (Just have the new subscribers shoot me an email at authorccpayne@gmail.com telling me the email address of the person who referred them, so that I can contact the winner, find out how they want the books signed and where to send them.)

 

I hope to see you, speak with you, or send books to you soon! Until then, know that you are among the blessings I'll be counting this Thanksgiving!
 

I would've called you but . . .

I'm busy showing you how much I love you.

See, like most children of the South, I was raised not to be bothersome to other people--outside of my own home. In public, I was taught not to trouble anybody by asking for anything (I could accept whatever might be offered--a drink, for example, but I was not to ask for something to drink). No, in public, I was to speak only when spoken to, and then I was to use my very best manners, as in, "Yes, ma'am, I'd love some water. Thank you." Other than that, I was expected to sit still, quietly, and with my legs crossed, until it was time to go home. If I got bored, I was encouraged to read.

I was not encouraged to ask the thirty-two million burning questions I had at any given moment--because the answers were, no doubt, in a book somewhere that I could read. Fidgeting, making noise, or any kind of a mess, were also strictly prohibited.

Naturally, I've carried these lessons forward into my adult life. Unfortunately, not everyone understands that by not calling, not disturbing, not asking for anything, I am showing DEEP LOVE AND RESPECT. Hard to believe, isn't it? I know!

Maybe you're thinking my parents were too hard on me. I think not. A case in point: A few years ago, when I visited New Orleans for the first time with my best friend of nearly twenty years, I asked so many questions on the first day that she--MY BEST FRIEND!--finally turned to me and said something like, "Catherine, honey, I love you dearly, but we're going to need to find somebody else for you to question . . . because if you ask me one more question, I'll be forced to stab you. Violently and repeatedly. And I'll miss you. Later. But not now." So you can kind of see what my parents were up against. I think it's fair to say that we all owe them. Especially my best friend. (I bought several books about New Orleans, which is probably the reason I'm still alive today.)

Bottom line: If I haven't called you in a while--or ever--you should probably count your blessings, and you should definitely count my love and respect among them!

P.S. Happy birthday, Uncle Bob! I would call you, but I don't want to interrupt the celebration. Because I love you. You get that, right?

It all comes down to lunch.

In two weeks, my new novel, Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom & and the Challenges of Bad Hair will be released. It took a dozen or so grown folks on both sides of the Mason Dixon, four years, and two dogs (dogs are very encouraging) to get to this point. And here we are. Lula Bell and me. All clean and pressed and ready to go. Standing on our front porch, looking out into the great, wide world, we feel hopeful. And just a teensy bit nervous.

It's a lot like the first day of school: We hope we look okay and smell okay and don't have anything stuck in our teeth. We hope we don't embarrass ourselves. We hope nobody else will embarrass us either--by picking on us. (So far, so good. Our first review, from Kirkus Reviews said, "With an authentic voice, the wryly humorous Lula Bell contemplates life and the nature of true friendship with distinctive candor. Payne's hopeful tale encourages readers to rejoice in what makes them unique.") We also hope we won't be alone. We hope we can find some old friends and make some new ones, too. Preferably both. By lunchtime. Because everybody knows that it all comes down to lunch, right? Hey, what are you doing over lunch? Because the best way to face this type of thing...

...is together.

To read the first chapter of Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom & and the Challenges of Bad Hair (over lunch or not), visit www.ccpayne.net and click on "Sneak-A-Peek" at the top of the home page.

To order the book, click here: http://www.amazon.com/Lula-Bell-Geekdom-Freakdom-challenges/dp/0761462252/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1339001290&sr=1-1

To harass your school media specialist or local librarian into ordering the book, visit your nearest library.

If you've done any of that, or even thought about doing any of that, thank you. If you've "liked" us on Facebook, thank you--and we like you right back! ( http://www.facebook.com/pages/c-c-payne/479926372023544 ) Thanks, y'all. Really. Thanks.

Aaawww.

This morning, my husband pointed out some glitter that had fallen out of our daughter’s backpack on her way down the stairs. But I didn’t rush to get the vacuum cleaner. Instead I said, “Aawww, how cute! Our little girl left behind a trail of fairy dust—don’t our stairs look…magical?” Well, I think they do. So I’m leaving the glitter. Until I know someone’s coming over.

 

Unlike the upside-down curtains hanging in my bedroom, which are staying exactly as they are, even if I receive word that Queen Elizabeth is coming for high tea, and wants to tour our home afterward. Because my husband hung these curtains all by himself, as a surprise for me, on the day we moved into this house. Every time I look at them—hanging from the hems—I remember how proud he was to show them to me, and I think…Aawww.

 

If you ask me, perfection lies in imperfection—that’s where all the sweet stuff, the unexpected stuff, the human stuff is—the stuff that makes you say, “Aawww.”

The Magic Words

Recently, I learned THE magic words, from my beautiful and brilliant friend, Rosemary. No, the magic words aren’t, “I love you,” although those are good words, too. No, they aren’t, “I’m absolutely wrong and you’re absolutely right,” although these are also among my favorite words to hear—but not to say—ick! Basically, Rosemary was running down a teensy weensy, little bitty list of completely reasonable demands. When those demands were received with some slight hesitation, Rosemary then said the magic words, “It’s my birthday week!” I know, right? Like I said, brilliant!

So last Sunday, I began saying (repeatedly): “It’s my birthday week!” As a result, here’s how the week shaped up:

I did some birthday lake-lounging while reading—for several days—until the sun went down.

 On the way home...

My husband and I enjoyed a fabulous birthday couples’ massage.

My mom took me out for a super-fun, four hour birthday-lunch! (To our server: I’m sorry . . . but it’s my birthday week!)

My dad, stepmom, and sister had me over for the best birthday-dinner. (The best birthday-dinner consists of hamburgers and french fries, if on the inside, you’re still twelve—ish—which I am.) You’ll just have to take my word that these family members exist, since they wouldn’t like having their photos posted here—or anywhere, I think—whenever we visit Cracker Barrel, my stepmom takes a few minutes to feel sorry for the poor unsuspecting souls whose photos ended up on the walls there. (Note to self: Do not honor your stepmother by putting her photo on the wall of the local Cracker Barrel.)

But don’t worry: I wouldn’t expect you to take my word on the all important issue of birthday cake! Here it is!

This Baskin-Robbins chocolate-mint ice cream with chocolate cake has been my favorite for forty years now—everybody else in my family says they’re a little tired of it, but I’m not . . . and it’s my birthday week! (I’m told the question mark candle was chosen to prevent the small house fire that forty candles were sure to start—safety first, friends.)

Why, I even rated a tiara—A TIARA!!!—from my sister, who obviously fully comprehends the concept of birthday week!

OF COURSE I look good...because I'm wearing a TIARA!!! With feathers!

Other thoughtful birthday gifts, flowers, and cards arrived all week long!

Even Lula Bell popped up to wish me a happy birthday!

And finally, Sunday brunch with girlfriends wrapped up my birthday week perfectly!

Yes, I highly, highly recommend using The Magic Words! Unfortunately, you have to wait until the week of your birthday. Otherwise, when you say to your people, “It’s my birthday week!” they—predictably (eyeroll)—respond, “No it isn’t.” Which is pretty rude if you ask me, but . . . well, either wait for your birthday or get some new people. Every week.

As for me, here’s what I’m thinking right this very moment: 51 weeks until my birthday week!

Thanks, Rosemary! 

Lula Bell Takes Manhattan!

Hey, y'all! Lula Bell Bonner here! Some call me the "protagonist" of C. C. Payne's new novel, Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom & the Challenges of Bad Hair, but I prefer "star". Actually, I really prefer "super-star"! What? You don't believe that I'm a star? I am totally a star. Why, here I am at Book Expo America, in New York City, today, right this very minute, y'all! 

Look! I'm right next to R. L. Stine's Zombie Town! If that doesn't scream STARDOM then I don't know what does!

More ME! Less completely unnecessary other stuff!

Me again, in actual book form...with stickers that read, NOT FOR SALE and FALL 2012 and DO NOT REMOVE. (Do they mean the book or the sticker? Is this like those DO NOT REMOVE UNDER PENALTY OF LAW tags on pillows?)

See? I told you. No, I won't give you my autograph. Now. Because you didn't believe me when I tried to tell you that I'm a star! Hmph! But I will forgive you, no later than October 2nd, IF you will take me in and let me live at your house! To do that, click here: http://www.amazon.com/Lula-Bell-Geekdom-Freakdom-challenges/dp/0761462252/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1339001290&sr=1-1  Thanks! Can't wait!

Blowing kisses to all the many, MANY fans (of my dreams),

Lula Bell Bonner
Super-Star (almost)

Update: C. C. Payne just said, "Lula Bell, the only 'stars' in my state play basketball for the University of Kentucky." Hmph! Good thing I'm from Tennessee!

From The Queen Mother

Since it’s Mother’s Weekend—because one day is obviously not enough to adequately recognize and honor mothers—and since I am a mother, I have pretty much declared myself The Queen Mother of this weekend (at my house, at least).

Look, it's not like I'm asking anyone to bow at my feet, or massage my feet, or do anything with my feet. At all. I'm perfectly capable of treating myself like a queen, which is what I have been doing ALL DAY:

I slept in. (Here's the first thing I saw when I peered over the side of my bed this morning.)

Then, I had coffee in my favorite cup and lingered over my e-mail. At 2:00PM, I was still in my pajamas--heaven, I tell you!

Then, I threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and planted some flowers.

When I came inside, I announced that I would be preparing some divinely disgusting, artery-clogging potato skins for myself, that I would be glad to make extra for anyone else who might want some, but that anybody who didn't would have to make their own supper (everybody opted to make their own suppers).

After that, I curled up in this chair, with the electric blanket on high, and watched a movie that nobody else in my family wanted to watch--and I enjoyed it very much!

Now, I'm about to get into this bathtub, where I plan to spend the next hour with a good book--it's great to be queen!

But first, Happy Mother's Weekend to all the other Queen Mothers out there! I hope you're giving yourself The Royal Treatment!

Letting In Light

It has been said that anyone who survived childhood has enough material for a novel--or ten. (Flannery O'Connor has said that many a bestselling novel could have been prevented by a good teacher.) While I believe this to be true, I have to admit that it sounds easier than it is, at least in my case.

These past few months, in between revisions, edits, copyedits, and proofreads of Lula Bell...I've been working on a new novel. And that novel has required me to visit the darkest room in my mind, a room that I not only never visit, but that I keep locked, dead bolted, chained, and wrapped in neon-yellow caution tape. It is not a happy place. Yet, I have unlocked it and gone in almost every day for months, looking for a comfortable chair from which I might work (there isn't one). Hanging in the haunted room hasn't really bothered me. Yes, there are ghosts, but they're mine, so I know them and we're Okay.

I was beginning to think that I was an amazing anomaly: a writer who also happened to be the picture of perfect mental health. I was just weeks away from joining the circus, or moving to California, where I think there might be a few other mentally healthy writers--though none as mentally healthy as me--obviously. I was feeling pretty good about my miraculously strong, healthy little self.

And then, yesterday, I completed the last page of the first draft of this new novel and heaved a huge sigh of relief. I stood up in the dark room, said goodbye to all my ghosts, locked, dead-bolted, and chained the door on my way out, and put the caution tape back. Then, in the comfort of my bright, sunshiny office, I looked over the 230 pages I had written, and felt that I had earned a nap--great mental health requires rest periods--ask any kindergartner.

I went right to sleep, where some of my ghosts were waiting to watch home movies with me. I clutched their hands and held on desperately. We all sobbed. I was still sobbing when I woke up, and I couldn't get hold of myself. I called my husband. He couldn't understand a word I was saying, so he came home--to prevent a full-on nervous breakdown, even though I'm sure he worried that he might be too late. He held me and said all the right things, but the tears continued to flow.

I thought I might never stop crying. It was then that I realized I might not have been mentally healthy enough or strong enough to spend months working in the darkest room of my mind. It had been a bad idea. And now, I was paying for it. I felt very, very sorry for myself. I tried my usual fix: pizza. It didn't work. So, I cried myself to sleep.

But this morning, I was not crying when I woke. So, I was able to get out of my own mind and look around a little. In doing so, I remembered why I had gone to the dark room in the first place: because the ghosts aren't the only ones there; there are millions of real live kids living there, who can't see beyond the darkness and the walls, and who have no reason to believe they'll ever make it out of that room. I'd gone back to that room to open the door and let in a little light, because the light, the truth, reveals the way out.

And then, my daughter, to whom I'd handed off the first draft for reading, questions, comments and complaints, came to me. She said, "My friend, Blank, needs this book. Now. I mean, she really needs it. . . as much as she needs air and water." And light, I thought.

It feels like redemption, like hope, like spring: the sun blazing through winter-gray clouds, skeletal trees sprouting bright new-growth-green, flowers bursting forth from the dirt, and every church marquis announcing, "He is Risen!"

So, even though I won't be joining the circus or moving to California anytime soon, I am Okay. On the mental health scale reserved for writers, I might even be better than Okay--because I still have most of my hair and all of my teeth. (Flannery O'Connor wrote, "Writing a novel is a terrible experience during which the hair falls out and teeth decay. I'm always irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality, and it's very shocking to the system.")

Fiction writers of the world, God bless you. To everyone else, well. . . my advice is to steer clear of fiction writers the way you would steer clear of a large, homeless, hairless, toothless man crouched on the sidewalk, rocking and talking to himself--he's probably a fiction writer.

Happy Spring! Happy Hope! Happy Redemption! Happy Easter to all!

Hard Learned Hair Lessons

In honor of the cutie-pie-creation of this dust jacket for my new novel (coming soon!),

I am sharing a few hard learned lessons under the all important heading of Good Hair:

1.) Wearing Dorothy Hamill's haircut will not fool people into thinking you are Dorothy, just like wearing napkin rings around your wrists will not fool people into thinking you are Wonder Woman. Apparently.

(Please, no autographs today. Because I don't know how to spell very well. And because I don't know whether to write Wunder Woman or Dorthy Hamil.)

2.) Ever heard somebody say, "JUST a body perm"? Well, this is JUST a body perm.

(The higher your hair is, the closer you are to heaven. Which is why I can see into heaven right now. There are no perms there.)

3.) Of course, I'm the type of girl who perseveres, which is why one bad perm hardly stopped me from having another. And another. And another. Until my hairdresser finally said, "I can't give you another perm. Your hair will turn to straw." Naturally, I found another, much more reasonable hairdresser, who was more than willing to turn my hair to straw for me.

(Perseverance, people.)

Now, repeat after me: I will not cut my own bangs. I will not cut my own bangs. I will not cut my own bangs.

Happy hair, my friends!

Uninspired

I couldn't think of anything much to blog about this month because I've been holed up at home, writing. I thought about getting out. But then I looked outside and it was still February. So I began looking around my little writing hole, for inspiration. Here's what I found:

This photo of the house where my father was born sits on my desk reminding me just how far my people have come, and that I owe past generations both gratitude and continued hard work--clearing the path for future generations, as it has been cleared for me.

This julep cup reminds me how blessed I am to live in Kentucky, and for that matter, the United States--because that's what makes clearing the path even seem possible.

My daughter drew the below picture when she was six; it reminds me not to spend SO much time clearing the path that I forget what's important to her--still.

(For those who can't make it out, it says, What Makes a Good Mommy: loves to play, a smart brain, a great smile, a good heart, stands up for me, sweetness, and pretty clothes--the clothes thing must've been more of a suggestion, since most of mine were--and still are--debatable as "pretty".)

Here's a piece of pottery my daughter made in the second grade, for Mother's Day. It was supposed to be a ladybug, but the legs, polka dots, and antennae fell off in the kiln. When my daughter enthusiastically unwrapped the piece to show me, she promptly burst into tears. "What is this?!" she cried. I quickly responded, "It's a belly-button-bowl and I'm proud to be the only mama in the whole wide world who owns one--thank you."

My belly-button bowl reminds me that our mistakes are part of our unique experience, part of what makes us...well, us...and to embrace all that is unique, in others as well as myself. (I make a lot of metaphorical belly-button-bowls. A lot.)

These are the orchids my husband brought me two weeks ago for no reason at all. They remind me that even when I get it all wrong, he still loves me, and that God is still getting it all right. I can--and should--always take time to delight in God's glorious creations.

At a wedding reception, my father tied this little bell onto my purse in the middle of a family tiff. It was his way of saying, "Hey, lighten up." It's a message worth repeating. Daily. (I can be a little...intense.)

This is a photo of my mother giving me my first bath; it reminds me that a mother's love, like God's love, is unconditional. I don't have to do anything to earn it--I don't even have to be capable of holding up my own head. This kind of love just is, and it's really the only kind worth having and giving.

This card from my sister reminds me how blessed I am to even have a sister, because a sister understands your history, and therefore you, like no one else on earth--and she usually loves you anyway--mine does (thank you).

The cough drops remind me that in absolutely any situation there is joy to be had, to look for the joy, find it, take it, taste it. (My grandfather, Poppy, always had two things: overflowing joy and Luden's wild cherry cough drops.)

Finally, this is my favorite photo of my daughter, taken by my friend, Sandy (http://www.sandrareaganphoto.com). To me, it seems like we just did that photo shoot last week, but in fact, more than a decade has passed. So, this picture whispers, "Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock..."

Life is ever-changing--and short--so I can't afford to waste a second of it: Clear the path! But not every waking minute. Take time to count blessings, to revel in the warmth and sweetness of family, to embrace human imperfection, and to delight in divine perfection. Lighten up! Laugh! Find the joy! Take it! Taste it! Tick tock!

Perhaps you're feeling a little uninspired, too--after all, it's still February. If so, I encourage you to look around. Inspiration is everywhere, maybe even--and especially--on your very own desk.