My publisher emailed me today to let me know the cover for my debut YA novel, THE OBVIOUS GAME, will be ready on December 20. That's a little over a month away! PLEASE TO FREAK OUT WITH ME!

If you'd like to be part of the cover reveal action (basically put it on your blog or other social media), please fill out the form here. You can also fill out the form if you'd be willing to review the book when it's out in February 2013, tweet about it, tell your barista, you know, whatever. I use the form so I don't spam people. At least, I hope I don't spam people. I really have no interest in spamming people because it makes them not like me.

Here's the form. 

I know what I want it to look like in my head, but I don't know how it will look. This publisher was very cool in that they sent me a sheet asking for all sorts of information about my vision for the cover. I'm fairly certain this is highly unusual. I got to see six or seven cover designs for SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK and weigh in, but I don't recall anyone asking me what I wanted it to look like. I've heard from other authors they didn't see their covers at all until they got ARCs in the mail. (An ARC is industry-speak for advanced review copy). Is asking authors for cover input part of the new world order or is it just something smaller presses do? I have no idea, but I like it VERY VERY MUCH.

I'm not going to share the entire form, because a) I didn't ask and b) it reveals too much about the book, but I found it fascinating they asked so much about my protagonist, Diana.

Protagonist

Gender:Female

Clothes(Urban, Tshirt, skirt, old 1600 clothing): book set in 1990. Jeans,sweatshirts, t-shirts. Diana is not very stylish.

EyeColor: Blue

Haircolor: Brown

HairLength: shoulder-length

I probably should also have noted she was white. It's not something one should assume, though you'll notice I totally did. Still working on not making that a given in the way I move through the world.

Thank you all so much for allowing me to share my excitement about the publishing process with you! 

DJ Nibbles celebrates cover art.

I deleted all my boards off Pinterest a few months ago, because I was pinning mostly public art and got freaked out about copyright. You really aren't supposed to pin anything you don't have permission to pin unless you took the picture yourself, and everything I was pinning was art, so I got nervous.

I recently read a great article somewhere (I've forgotten where) about starting a pinboard for your books, if you're an author. I think that's a fascinating idea. Probably even more fascinating considering two of the three books I'm pinning for aren't published yet. Either way, it'll be fun for me. Let me know if this would make a book come more alive for you, and if you want, follow my boards! I haven't pinned much yet -- I just started. It'll happen the way the books themselves happen -- slowly.

Every year I have goals. As a mother. As a wife. As a citizen of the world. But I also think for a long time about my goals as a writer.

I know you may sigh and roll your eyes when I trot out that bullshit about having to write down your goals to make them come true, but, um, it's for real. If you don't write them down (or at least think them out well enough to write them down), then you can't break them down into steps that get your butt propelled in the right direction.

I have three major writing goals for 2010. Last year I had two. I accomplished my two last year, but having written them down made me break a cold sweat when I got to July and realized I was in danger of not kicking one out. Writing down those goals puts on a little pressure, even if nobody on God's green earth besides you cares if you accomplish them.

And probably, when it comes to writing goals, nobody but you DOES care. That's what makes it so easy to ignore them.

There were many years when I didn't have writing goals, and in those years, I barely wrote anything. Without something to work toward, writing itself felt like work, a pointless chore that nobody but me cared if I did.

I think my three goals for 2010 are achievable, but they'll require a lot of work. The second and third goal are harder than the first, because I need people besides myself to make them happen. Editors, publishers. That makes it tough. Especially with the publishing industry going through what it's going through. But I have to try -- trying is what makes me a writer and not a hobbyist. Not someone who would like to be a writer, but really never writes. That's what I was when I wasn't working toward writing goals.

Now I'm a writer.

Today I spent some time at Johnson County Community College talking to ninth graders from the Olathe school district about being a writer.

One of the first kids who came up to me asked me if spelling was important. I considered it for a while, then said YES, BY GOD, IT IS. Then he asked if I write things out longhand, and I said, "No," then heard myself uttering, "Although I did when I was your age. We didn't really use computers then."

This kid looked at me as though I were fossilizing before his very eyes.

A series of flat-ironed blond girls streamed past. "What's the demand for your field?" one asked, popping her gum.

"Well," I said, "By the time you're out of college, I think we'll have that all figured out. Right now, it's pretty bad, actually." I paused. "But writing will never be outsourced to another country. Think about that. And corporations aren't really as evil as you'd think." Gah gah gah gah gah

At this point, I looked at the arborist sitting next to me with a giant chainsaw and asked for some of his Purell. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE. DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE.

As I waited for more kids to approach, I heard one large boy ask the arborist, "Why would you need a chainsaw that big?"

An alert-looking girl ambled over. She skipped the questions on the preprepared form and went straight for the blogging. "How do you build your following?" she asked. "How long did it take to get one?"

I thought back to 2004, when I had a good day with 30 hits. "It took a long time," I said.

"I have a huge following on DNL," she said. I think that's what she said. I have no idea what DNL is. It must be something the kids are doing these days.

"I push a lot from Twitter," I replied. One of the other girls flipped her hair.

"I don't know how to make Twitter work," said the other girl.

You and most of America.

A teenaged boy came up. "I'm sorry," he said, before he'd said anything. Then he looked nervously at my sign, which said "writer."

"I like to write," he said, "but I don't think I'm very good at it."

"You know what? Nobody's very good at it in ninth grade. If you like it, you're probably better at it than you think. Keep going."

I got into a conversation about Ray Bradbury with an earnest-looking wanna-be reporter. Most of the kids looked through me at the window beyond.

The organizer kept getting on the loudspeaker.

THERE'S NO WAITING AT GARMIN!

The crowd began to rustle.

THERE'S NO WAITING AT THE EDUCATION BOOTH!

No shit. They're in ninth grade. Educators are still "other."

I sat back and listened to my thoughts:

• I had those same elf boots when I was in ninth grade.
• These girls are so lucky they won't regret their high school hair later in life, unlike us unlucky schmucks who came of age in the eighties.
• DON'T TOUCH FACE! DON'T TOUCH FACE!
• Why is your field not in demand? Why don't more people pay you to write?
• Their feet look so BIG.
• Why are these girls so good at liquid eyeliner? Could I learn?

Another girl approached my table. "So, um, how many things have you written?" she asked, looking bored. She scanned my portfolio, flipping the tear sheets and the Sleep Is for the Weak coverage.

My computer hard drive flashed before my eyes -- thousands of individual pieces. How many posts are in this blog? 1,296. I just checked.

How can I tell her the volume of words it takes to get better?

It's overwhelming how much work it takes to get good at something. What should I say?

So I said nothing. I smiled and signed her Career Fair form.

"Hey," I called as she walked away. "Go to school for what you want. There are a lot of great-paying jobs that'll kill your soul."

She smiled, flipped her hair. "Thanks," she said.

And then I flipped back through my portfolio, remembering every single piece.