Thank god for ex-Good Morning America producer friends

This afternoon I read at Barnes & Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn and I was incredibly lucky that my dear friend Deb Eiseman made the trek (actually, that's the wrong word...on a warm spring day it's a trek, but in today's bitter cold, it was more like a schlep) over from the isle of Manhattan on which we live to support me.

And, you know, to make sure there was at least one person in the audience.

Not only is Deb a very talented artist -- you can see her work by clicking here-- but in a past life she used to be a producer for Good Morning America and she's still got that I'm-totally-fearless-and-have-no-problem-going-up-to-anyone-and-asking-for-anything thing going on, which meant that within five minutes she had wrangled about 10 teen girls in the store to come hear me read.

I knew there was a reason I was friends with Deb. Actually, there are many reasons I'm friends with her, but now there's one more.

And I not only remembered my camera, but I remembered to take it out of my bag before I started reading which meant that she could take pictures of me in action, so that you guys wouldn't be stuck looking at a picture of the Barnes & Noble restroom or something equally random which, left to my own devices, is the kind of lame-ass picture I would take. Unfortunately, in my excitement of looking out into the audience and seeing the shining faces of -- thanks to Deb -- a gaggle of teenage girls, I forgot to take a picture of Deb.

The last picture is of my new friend Claire, who goes to Brooklyn College and wants to be a writer herself. When she asked if I had any tips, I told her than in addition to reading, reading, reading and writing, writing, writing, she had to get Anne Lamott's book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life which you can check out by clicking here. I saw Anne Lamott speak once at Royce Hall at UCLA and it took everything in me not to throw myself at her feet in gratitude and admiration.

P.S. Apparently, upon first glance, many of you thought that the picture I posted on Tuesday was of the B&N at Carle Place rather than the train station waiting room which made me think that maybe I should organize a book tour that would be held solely in the waiting areas of train stations on rainy evenings...at least I'd have a captive audience.

My idea of heaven

Shakespeare & Company, Paris

I would like to live there.
Not just Paris, but actually in the bookstore.

I saw this picture on the MySpace page of one of my new friends -- a French librarian.

Conquering the YA world one small step (and audience turnout) at a time....

Tonight I did my first-ever reading/signing. Well, my first solo reading. You know, the kind where they have a big poster with my author photo and a picture of the book and it says "Appearing Tonight Only" or whatever it is they say. Anyway, it was at the Barnes & Noble at Carle Place on Long Island which meant I got to to take my maiden voyage on the LIRR (Long Island Rail Road) which was beyond exciting. What was even more exciting was the fact that when I got off the train in Garden City, there was nary a cab to found which meant that I got to walk the streets looking for one which would have been lovely if it had been, say, a sunny afternoon rather than, say, a dark rainy night. That being said, downtown Garden City seemed very charming. To make a long story short, I got a cab and got to my 7:00pm reading at 6:55.

The crowd consisted of Stephanie and her parents (Stephanie, send me that picture of us so I can post it here on my blog); Sarah and her dad (Happy 14th birthday, Sarah!!!) and a nice man named Andy who has a daughter who's also 14, and whose name is also Sarah, but she wasn't there. And Kristen, the Community Relations director of the Carle Place B&N. And another guy, but he wasn't there for the reading. He was just flipping through Elle Decor.

Not a huge turnout, I know. Kristen said maybe it had to do with the rain. I think maybe it has to do with the fact that I'm not Stephenie Meyer.

But, still, there was a turnout. And they were all lovely people and even if no one had showed up other than Kristen because she has to because it's, you know, her job to be there, I would've been beyond excited.

That being said, pleasepleaseplease check the News section of my website and come to one of my signings. I'll tell you this much--because there isn't exactly a crowd snaking around the side of the building waiting for for me to sign their copies of CE, I have the time to not only sign your copy, but write an epic inscription.

Now moving on to the photo.

I know most authors would probably have someone take a photo of them reading. Or signing. Or, if -- like me -- they're shy and hate the idea of asking anyone to do anything for them lest they then feel indebted to them for life, they'd at least take a picture of the outside of the bookstore.

Yeah, well, I decided to bypass those three and instead grace you with something far more exciting -- the interior of the waiting area of the Garden City train station. A rather pathetic memento of such a momentous occasion, I know, but a) it was late; b) I was tired because O'Neill The Cat had decided to wake me up at 5am YET AGAIN and I was crashing from the chocolate chip cookie I had gotten at the B&N cafe while waiting for the cab to take me back to the train station, and so rather than come home without any pictures, I took this one.

For good reason. Have you ever seen a waiting area with a faux fireplace? Pretty snazzy.

The shriek that could be heard all the way in Manhattan

So yesterday, Lexa, Patrick and I spent a sunny afternoon strolling down Park Slope's Seventh Avenue and we stopped in the Barnes & Noble where I'll be reading this coming Thursday at 3:30. After my first non-friend-requested autograph by a lovely young girl named Lina--which, I can't even begin to tell you, was beyond exciting--we left to go in search of coffee. But as we walked out the door I let out this huge shriek because, right there in the window, was a big poster announcing my reading.

Okay, the Lina part was exciting, but the poster part? Beyond, beyond exciting.

Of course Patrick took a picture because he's good at that stuff. And of course I cribbed it from his blog because otherwise I wouldn't be able to show you what the shrieking was about.

BTW, I could so live in Brooklyn. I came to that conclusion once we found the good coffee at Ozzie's, which came after we were given was basically amounted to brown water at another place which shall remain nameless so that I don't get sued for slander because I haven't yet sold enough books to pay the legal fees.

And as we were walking, a mother called out to her little girl whose name was..... India -- like my India in the book. She also had another kid, whom she called 'Punzel, which prompted the three of us to wonder aloud whether the child was named after Rapunzel, which then prompted me to announce that maybe I'd have a gaggle of children just so that I could name them all after fairy tale characters, which then prompted Lexa and Patrick to give me a very strange look, which then prompted me to shut up.

And although I look like I'm pregnant with the first in the gaggle in the picture above, I'm not. It's just the down in the down jacket.

It's now officially winter...

Yes, I realize that, it was officially winter back in December, but now it's officially winter according to me. Because, as you can see from these beautiful photos TAKEN BY MY FRIEND PATRICK (note the caps and bold so there's no way I can be accused of trying to pass them off as my own handiwork) we finally, finally got some snow that matters rather than a light dusting that disappears faster than a Billy's Bakery cupcake once it lands in my hands.

When I woke up yesterday morning and looked out the window and saw the snow, I planned on running outside with my camera and snapping away (after I threw on sweats and boots, that is) but that brilliant idea disappeared by the time I made it to the kitchen to make coffee and realized I was way too tired (and lazy) due to the fact that I've been working my ass off lately.

And then I thought, I'm sure Patrick is out there snapping away, because Patrick's just that kind of guy. (If you click here and read his blog, you'll see what I'm talking about.) So last night, when I went to meet him and our mutual friend Lexa who's in town from L.A. (see non-snow picture above -- the one I allowed to be taken of me POST-FACIAL because I knew Patrick was going to insist on that for his blog -- who on earth lets themself be photographed sans makeup, post-facial?!) I found out that -- yes, indeed -- Patrick had taken photos.

So, like an underachieving high school student, I asked him if I could just "borrow" his for my blog. I did say I'd give him credit, though. And because he's so sweet, he said yes.

So these are photos from my first NYC snowstorm. It was great. The whole day was great -- especially hanging out with Lexa and Patrick and going to see Sarah Ruhl's new play Dead Man's Cell Phone starring Mary-Louise Parker, which was quirky and fun. (Due to the fact that I've only ingested the first quarter of my cup of coffee I'm not in the space to be reviewing a 34-year-old Pulitzer Prize-nominated playwright's work without risking projecting lightning bolts of envy...even if they are cloaked in breezy, passive aggressive prose).

So, yes, snowstorm = very exciting.
Lexa being in town = even more exciting.

How I Spent My Senior Prom by Robin Palmer

So a few weeks ago I was asked if I had any interested in writing an original essay for Powells.com.

Um, yeah.

I was told that it could be about anything, and seeing that Cindy Ella takes place during prom time, I decided to write about my own own even though it was a million and a half years ago. So, with flashbacks to high school English class, I hunkered down in my bunker (a.k.a my Upper West Side apartment) and wrote this.


After I was done, I had one of my Clever And Witty Moments, where I came up with the idea that it would be fun if they posted my prom picture with the essay. You know, next to my RECENT author photo, so people would see that I wasn't some weird authoress with frosted blonde hair who refused to let go of the '80s.

Maybe the including-the-RECENT-author-photo part got lost in translation/cyberspace, but it's not there. Which means that as far as the people who read the essay on Powells.com are concerned, I'm this weird authoress with frosted blonde hair who's refused to let go of the '80s.

Yes, I'm being vain. I know. But I'm allowed a few of those a year. As an L.A. resident you're allotted ten. Here in NYC, you only get five and I've only used two in the six months I've lived here.

This woman here...

...has been my friend since fifth grade. I've known her since fourth, but we weren't in the same class until fifth, which is when we became friends. Her name is Kellie Keane and she's one of the sweetest, most considerate people I've ever met and I'm so glad that she tracked me down via email a few years ago after we had lost touch, which happened back in college.

When we were young, we used to hang out in her basement and watch THE OUTSIDERS and talk about going to parties in Hollywood wearing little black dresses. Her Aunt Nicole used to live on the Upper East Side here in Manhattan and one weekend we went and stayed there and saw Andy Warhol getting out of a limousine, and went to the Peppermint Lounge.

It's funny how there are some people who, if you don't talk to them on a daily basis, the friendship just dies, while there are others who you can just pick up with again no matter how much time passes in between. Kellie and I have been having a 30-year conversation. Sure, there have been a few gaps here and there, but it never feels like that.