If the promise of being bra-tastic weren't enough, you receive a free gift with every order! I can only imagine what it may be, but I'm thinking it's something with a clever name like, "Nip-Tastic." Just a guess.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Bra-Tastic!
If the promise of being bra-tastic weren't enough, you receive a free gift with every order! I can only imagine what it may be, but I'm thinking it's something with a clever name like, "Nip-Tastic." Just a guess.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
B-I-N-G-O
Last night I went for my first time to a bingo game at an American Legion hall. I have always wanted to go, as I am somewhat of a board game fiend. Sadly, no one else in my house is (as of yet). Maybe I will share my odd collection of games on the blog, including WAY too many versions of Clue. (I also own several versions of "Clue: The Movie", including the VHS, DVD, and Blu-Ray.) Thankfully, my friend Emily seemed as enthusiastic as me about going to a bingo game, so we met on a snowy evening and tried our luck.
At first, I was on edge. My heart was beating SO HARD. I feared missing a number, or thinking I had bingo and then not having the right numbers. People were hardcore! I had no idea there were so many products made specifically for bingo players. Like the bingo chips surrounded by a little metal circle that you can then use a wand to easily clear your board after you lose!
And look at all of these cute daubers [sometimes called "dabber"]options:
I brought my daughter's Do-a-Dot thingies, and they worked perfectly. I felt so clever, but not as clever as the people who brought seat cushions! And I had no idea about the culture of bingo and good luck trolls. Maybe that's why Emily and I didn't win a single game. Big bucks were at stake, too. The final game, a coverall, was worth $500!
As the evening wore on, I realized I probably wouldn't win against a person with a table full of cards versus my measly six. And even though we didn't end up winning a cent, I will totally go again. Not every single week, as some people do. Although, I must say, their 75 cent popcorn and snacks are already calling to me. I wonder what Emily's doing next Wednesday night...
At first, I was on edge. My heart was beating SO HARD. I feared missing a number, or thinking I had bingo and then not having the right numbers. People were hardcore! I had no idea there were so many products made specifically for bingo players. Like the bingo chips surrounded by a little metal circle that you can then use a wand to easily clear your board after you lose!
And look at all of these cute daubers [sometimes called "dabber"]options:
I brought my daughter's Do-a-Dot thingies, and they worked perfectly. I felt so clever, but not as clever as the people who brought seat cushions! And I had no idea about the culture of bingo and good luck trolls. Maybe that's why Emily and I didn't win a single game. Big bucks were at stake, too. The final game, a coverall, was worth $500!
As the evening wore on, I realized I probably wouldn't win against a person with a table full of cards versus my measly six. And even though we didn't end up winning a cent, I will totally go again. Not every single week, as some people do. Although, I must say, their 75 cent popcorn and snacks are already calling to me. I wonder what Emily's doing next Wednesday night...
Friday, January 18, 2013
what's in a name?
I totally didn't capitalize the title of this post because I was blanking on which words to capitalize. In fact, I don't even know if capitalize is spelled correctly. Where did my brain go? Which is a take on one of my daughter's favorite games, Where Did My Hand Go?
Book #5 is back in the hands of my beloved editor. There was a funny period, though, where I could not, for the life of me, name the main love interest. There were many things complicating the matter, but picking a name for anyone is hard. People will complain about anything these days, and I know there was a whole thing a while back (or maybe it's still going on) where people were bitching about the weird names in books. Like, why can't characters just have normal names? My answer to that is: because when you get to write a book, you get to name people that aren't real so you might as well be silly about it. I think Stephenie Meyer did a bang up job with some of her character names. I don't mean Edward and Jacob (perfectly nice, normal names), but Emmett and Jasper. I love those names! In fact, I met a manatee at Epcot Center that was also named Jasper! Who came first?
I finally settled on the main dude's name: Leo. That was a suggestion from my editor. We had a funny name discussion, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But I'm not asking for your opinion on the name. I learned about that when it came time for me to name my daughter. Other pregnant people told me they wouldn't share their baby names before their kids were born, mostly because people were so judgmental that they ruined the joy of the name. I figured out, once I knew we were naming the kiddo Romy, that if I told people, "Her name is Romy," instead of "We are going to name her Romy," there was nothing they could say. You can't tell someone they have a stupid name once they already have it. Not that Romy is, or ever was, a stupid name. I stand by it being the greatest name EVA. And I like Leo a lot, too. I just hope it fits the character. I guess that's one of the differences between naming a baby (or even a pet) and a character: the baby has yet to become that name, while the character has already been written and, thus, needs to fit the name.
Next up: the title of the book. I'm thinking of going with "Jasper the Fun-Loving Manatee." What do you think?
Book #5 is back in the hands of my beloved editor. There was a funny period, though, where I could not, for the life of me, name the main love interest. There were many things complicating the matter, but picking a name for anyone is hard. People will complain about anything these days, and I know there was a whole thing a while back (or maybe it's still going on) where people were bitching about the weird names in books. Like, why can't characters just have normal names? My answer to that is: because when you get to write a book, you get to name people that aren't real so you might as well be silly about it. I think Stephenie Meyer did a bang up job with some of her character names. I don't mean Edward and Jacob (perfectly nice, normal names), but Emmett and Jasper. I love those names! In fact, I met a manatee at Epcot Center that was also named Jasper! Who came first?
I finally settled on the main dude's name: Leo. That was a suggestion from my editor. We had a funny name discussion, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But I'm not asking for your opinion on the name. I learned about that when it came time for me to name my daughter. Other pregnant people told me they wouldn't share their baby names before their kids were born, mostly because people were so judgmental that they ruined the joy of the name. I figured out, once I knew we were naming the kiddo Romy, that if I told people, "Her name is Romy," instead of "We are going to name her Romy," there was nothing they could say. You can't tell someone they have a stupid name once they already have it. Not that Romy is, or ever was, a stupid name. I stand by it being the greatest name EVA. And I like Leo a lot, too. I just hope it fits the character. I guess that's one of the differences between naming a baby (or even a pet) and a character: the baby has yet to become that name, while the character has already been written and, thus, needs to fit the name.
Next up: the title of the book. I'm thinking of going with "Jasper the Fun-Loving Manatee." What do you think?
Friday, January 11, 2013
The Faves
I have started a million blog posts and never finished them. Since I stopped blogging regularly, it's been really hard to get back into it. Kind of like exercising. So I'm going to ease back in with some of my favorite things as of late. Mind you, it's nothing classy. I don't have time for classy. Between rewrites of my next novel (a tough one that has taken me forever to finish. I mean, is STILL taking me forever to finish) and the poorly paying job of MOM, I pretty much wear the same pair of jeans everyday. Here are the few pieces of "culture" I have managed to fit in:
Supernatural - I have been looking for a show to fit the Buffy-shaped hole in my life since it went off the air. Battlestar Galactica more than filled that last year, in the high quality, amazing writing, acting, and stories department. Sniff. In my parallel life where I get to re-watch TV shows, I'm watching Battlestar Galactica right now. But BSG was pretty intense. So intense, actually, that as the show was nearing its final episodes I had to stop watching. I just couldn't let it end. It was somewhat pathetic. [Side note: the reason I started watching BSG was because of a Portlandia episode where the characters started watching BSG and couldn't stop watching. Then they found someone who they thought was the show's creator to write more episodes. Insanely hilarious.] Supernatural is not quite the caliber of writing and storytelling, but it's rather adorable. I like the hilarious brother antics, and of course the otherworldly big bads. I am only on Season 4, so if you happen to comment about the show, NO SPOILERS. Um, also, I bought a Supernatural calendar.
Ke$ha "Warrior" - You know I love Ke$ha. I hope I always do. I hope she continues to make music that makes me happy, semi-embarrassed, want to dance, and reminds me of my hilarious college self forever.
Buffy: The Making of a Slayer - Dang, I love Buffy. This book has all sorts of background skinny on the show. It came in a silly book box, which now houses a variety of my daughter's toys. And the book is a little too heavy to read it bed. Or carry around in my purse. Still mega awesome.
I realize that's only three favorites, but I'm going to start there. It's like a brisk walk on the treadmill for twenty minutes. Or maybe a saunter and just for ten. Whatever. It's a start. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get on my actual treadmill and watch the Winchester boys.
Supernatural - I have been looking for a show to fit the Buffy-shaped hole in my life since it went off the air. Battlestar Galactica more than filled that last year, in the high quality, amazing writing, acting, and stories department. Sniff. In my parallel life where I get to re-watch TV shows, I'm watching Battlestar Galactica right now. But BSG was pretty intense. So intense, actually, that as the show was nearing its final episodes I had to stop watching. I just couldn't let it end. It was somewhat pathetic. [Side note: the reason I started watching BSG was because of a Portlandia episode where the characters started watching BSG and couldn't stop watching. Then they found someone who they thought was the show's creator to write more episodes. Insanely hilarious.] Supernatural is not quite the caliber of writing and storytelling, but it's rather adorable. I like the hilarious brother antics, and of course the otherworldly big bads. I am only on Season 4, so if you happen to comment about the show, NO SPOILERS. Um, also, I bought a Supernatural calendar.
Ke$ha "Warrior" - You know I love Ke$ha. I hope I always do. I hope she continues to make music that makes me happy, semi-embarrassed, want to dance, and reminds me of my hilarious college self forever.
Buffy: The Making of a Slayer - Dang, I love Buffy. This book has all sorts of background skinny on the show. It came in a silly book box, which now houses a variety of my daughter's toys. And the book is a little too heavy to read it bed. Or carry around in my purse. Still mega awesome.
I realize that's only three favorites, but I'm going to start there. It's like a brisk walk on the treadmill for twenty minutes. Or maybe a saunter and just for ten. Whatever. It's a start. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get on my actual treadmill and watch the Winchester boys.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Mental
People are talking about mental health in this country. That is something I, for better and much worse, know a lot about. Get Well Soon, my first novel, was about a teenage girl hospitalized for depression. My newest novel, Have a Nice Day, follows that girl back to high school when she gets released. Get Well Soon is closely based on my own experience with depression and hospitalization in high school. The book was one of the recipients of the National Alliance on Mental Illness Ken Book Award in 2008. I was flown to New York City to accept the award in front of mental health professionals and the other award winners, all of whom were best-selling, award-winning, high falutin' scholars. I felt like an out of place child at the ceremony, not to mention the fact that I was eight weeks pregnant and could barely keep any food down. At the time, I didn't understand why my little YA novel would receive such a prestigious award. After years of receiving letters from teenagers about their own struggles with depression, or their friends' or siblings', I am starting to understand.
Mental healthcare in this country is complicated, expensive, and abstract. My stay in a mental hospital in high school cost $25,000 from my parents insurance plan. For some reason, all of the teenagers in the ward were aware of their parents' insurance plans. Most covered a standard $25,000 for inpatient help. That amounted to approximately three weeks, twenty-one days. Somehow "helping" me cost over one thousand dollars per day. There was a joke with the kids that one guy, the "lifer," had million dollar coverage. Ha? As an adult, I was occasionally told by those in the know that I made the mistake of using my health insurance to pay for my mental health care (anti-depressants, trips to my therapist or psychiatrist). I eventually found out that it was a mistake. When I left my job as a teacher, with comfy group health insurance, my family had to apply for individual care. I was grilled over the phone for hours by Blue Cross Blue Shield, the same company who covered me while I was employed for ten years, and emotionally stripped naked by some asshole who asked me question after question about my physical and mental history. I was told that withholding information would lead to automatic disqualification for insurance. What I was not told was that ANY admission of mental healthcare-- I'm talking your weekly chat with your social worker about how your boss is annoying-- was an automatic insurance red flag. No one would give us insurance because of it. We finally found United Healthcare, a very high deductible plan, to cover us, but with the clause that we could not use it for mental health care. We are grateful for the insurance. But what happens if down the road, someone in my family needs more? Needs to go somewhere that costs $25,000? And that was twenty years ago. Who knows what the cost is now?
Good mental healthcare is important. I have received both good and bad care, met with quacks and idiots, those who wanted to help and those who wanted to bill me $200 for ten minutes and a slip of paper. It is hard finding trustworthy, talented, responsible mental healthcare workers. I am probably more cynical on that front than most; it's hard not to be when you've seen the number of incompetents I have in my life. It's just a damn shame that so many people can't or won't get help when they need it. A huge part of the problem is financial. Now, my family pays out of pocket when we want to talk to someone to keep stability in our home. If I am in a place where I need more, I visit my general practitioner or my OB/Gyne, both whom I trust immensely, to give me my prescriptions. I have yet to find a psychiatrist who fits that bill. My last one typed the entire time I spoke with him and still had important details of my life incorrect. I am glad to know friends and family that have found ones they can trust.
But this is all coming from a person who has gone through her life under the eyes of therapists, from parents who accepted mental healthcare as a necessity. Annoyingly, I still sometimes need a lot of help. And it's a shitty kind of help to have to ask for. Why would I want anyone to know the horrid places my brain goes to when it's not working right? If I'm scaring myself, what impact would that have on someone who loves me? It is even harder now that I have a child; every sick, selfish, deathly thought is reflected back at me through her innocence. Several years ago, a colleague of mine killed herself. After our staff met about the suicide, a teacher friend of mine came up to me, ripping with anger. "I can't believe she did that to her sons," she seethed. I didn't say anything. I knew how she could. I knew what she was thinking: that her kids, the world, would be better off without her. Moments later, one of the feelier teachers came up to me, hugged me, and thanked me for keeping going (referring to the depression I've dealt with in my life). It was touching and terrifying, so much to live up to.
I have unfortunate mental health genes; my family, both sides, is filled with bi-polar disorder, anxiety, depression, and suicides. I grew up in a complicated house, one that was at times very scary, and often unpredictable. Mental healthcare, when used wisely, changed that. Everyone needs help sometimes, whether it's a antibiotic or an anti-psychotic. If we don't admit that as a society, there will continue to be people walking around, bubbling inside with confusion, self-loathing, and fear, looking for some way to release it. I don't know what the answers are. But it doesn't sound good when someone who wants help, who has asked for it, has a red flag. Those who may need it even more don't stand a chance.
Mental healthcare in this country is complicated, expensive, and abstract. My stay in a mental hospital in high school cost $25,000 from my parents insurance plan. For some reason, all of the teenagers in the ward were aware of their parents' insurance plans. Most covered a standard $25,000 for inpatient help. That amounted to approximately three weeks, twenty-one days. Somehow "helping" me cost over one thousand dollars per day. There was a joke with the kids that one guy, the "lifer," had million dollar coverage. Ha? As an adult, I was occasionally told by those in the know that I made the mistake of using my health insurance to pay for my mental health care (anti-depressants, trips to my therapist or psychiatrist). I eventually found out that it was a mistake. When I left my job as a teacher, with comfy group health insurance, my family had to apply for individual care. I was grilled over the phone for hours by Blue Cross Blue Shield, the same company who covered me while I was employed for ten years, and emotionally stripped naked by some asshole who asked me question after question about my physical and mental history. I was told that withholding information would lead to automatic disqualification for insurance. What I was not told was that ANY admission of mental healthcare-- I'm talking your weekly chat with your social worker about how your boss is annoying-- was an automatic insurance red flag. No one would give us insurance because of it. We finally found United Healthcare, a very high deductible plan, to cover us, but with the clause that we could not use it for mental health care. We are grateful for the insurance. But what happens if down the road, someone in my family needs more? Needs to go somewhere that costs $25,000? And that was twenty years ago. Who knows what the cost is now?
Good mental healthcare is important. I have received both good and bad care, met with quacks and idiots, those who wanted to help and those who wanted to bill me $200 for ten minutes and a slip of paper. It is hard finding trustworthy, talented, responsible mental healthcare workers. I am probably more cynical on that front than most; it's hard not to be when you've seen the number of incompetents I have in my life. It's just a damn shame that so many people can't or won't get help when they need it. A huge part of the problem is financial. Now, my family pays out of pocket when we want to talk to someone to keep stability in our home. If I am in a place where I need more, I visit my general practitioner or my OB/Gyne, both whom I trust immensely, to give me my prescriptions. I have yet to find a psychiatrist who fits that bill. My last one typed the entire time I spoke with him and still had important details of my life incorrect. I am glad to know friends and family that have found ones they can trust.
But this is all coming from a person who has gone through her life under the eyes of therapists, from parents who accepted mental healthcare as a necessity. Annoyingly, I still sometimes need a lot of help. And it's a shitty kind of help to have to ask for. Why would I want anyone to know the horrid places my brain goes to when it's not working right? If I'm scaring myself, what impact would that have on someone who loves me? It is even harder now that I have a child; every sick, selfish, deathly thought is reflected back at me through her innocence. Several years ago, a colleague of mine killed herself. After our staff met about the suicide, a teacher friend of mine came up to me, ripping with anger. "I can't believe she did that to her sons," she seethed. I didn't say anything. I knew how she could. I knew what she was thinking: that her kids, the world, would be better off without her. Moments later, one of the feelier teachers came up to me, hugged me, and thanked me for keeping going (referring to the depression I've dealt with in my life). It was touching and terrifying, so much to live up to.
I have unfortunate mental health genes; my family, both sides, is filled with bi-polar disorder, anxiety, depression, and suicides. I grew up in a complicated house, one that was at times very scary, and often unpredictable. Mental healthcare, when used wisely, changed that. Everyone needs help sometimes, whether it's a antibiotic or an anti-psychotic. If we don't admit that as a society, there will continue to be people walking around, bubbling inside with confusion, self-loathing, and fear, looking for some way to release it. I don't know what the answers are. But it doesn't sound good when someone who wants help, who has asked for it, has a red flag. Those who may need it even more don't stand a chance.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Gift Time
Last week, my family visited the in-laws in South Carolina for early Christmas. Therefore, we celebrated Christmas, are currently celebrating Hanukkah, and when that ends, less than ten days later comes real Christmas. TOO MUCH CRAP. Romy doesn't think so, of course. I actually had to rack my brain for things I wanted this year on my wish lists. It's not that I don't want things, but I can't really remember what it is I want when it comes time to tell someone else. And it seems lame to be like, "I could use some more of my bath gel." I managed to ask for- and receive- some excellent presents while in South Carolina, though. Here's a sampling of my bounty (and a look inside my dorky, gift-asking brain):
Oh, man, I love this shirt. Many of my gifts were Battlestar Galactica themed. I think I often choose one theme and run with it. I laugh every time I look at the shirt.
The new Ke$ha book! I love Ke$ha. Truly. I also received her new CD. Fabulous to the maxx.
This game is cray-cray. As an RPG player, I am used to very long, complicated game playing. The rules and contents of this box require mass amounts of studying before I will ever be able to play this game. And then I have to find at least two people to play it with me. Volunteers?
Hilariously, I asked for the DVD last year. Now I have both the DVD and blu-ray. That's how much I love this movie.
Okay, this wasn't for me. But I bet I would have loved this as a kid. I was a fan of going to the dentist. Because I was that cool.
I hope everyone is getting what they want for the holidays! Remember, if you want a signed book plate for any of my books, just send me an email with the name and address of where to send it. You can have a personally autographed book to give a friend or loved one! Now go get your teeth cleaned.
Oh, man, I love this shirt. Many of my gifts were Battlestar Galactica themed. I think I often choose one theme and run with it. I laugh every time I look at the shirt.
This game is cray-cray. As an RPG player, I am used to very long, complicated game playing. The rules and contents of this box require mass amounts of studying before I will ever be able to play this game. And then I have to find at least two people to play it with me. Volunteers?
Okay, this wasn't for me. But I bet I would have loved this as a kid. I was a fan of going to the dentist. Because I was that cool.
I hope everyone is getting what they want for the holidays! Remember, if you want a signed book plate for any of my books, just send me an email with the name and address of where to send it. You can have a personally autographed book to give a friend or loved one! Now go get your teeth cleaned.
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Happy Holiday Bookplates!
Thank goodness today will be in the 40s here in Chicagoland. It really freaks me out when it's the wrong weather. Two days ago we were int he upper 60s. Freakish. Last winter sucked with almost no snow. What's the point of being a kid with a pair of snow pants and a sled if it doesn't snow? I'm crossing my fingers it happens sometime this month. Speaking of this month, the holidays are coming fast! Hanukkah starts this weekend, and Christmas is less than three weeks away. Who's giving books for presents? I hope lots of you are. You know a way to make a book gift even more exciting? Have it personally autographed by the author! So here's my deal:
1) Send me (email julie@juliehalpern.com) a copy of a receipt (or forward an electronic receipt) for any of my books that you purchase for a holiday gift (There are four to choose from: GET WELL SOON, INTO THE WILD NERD YONDER, DON'T STOP NOW, and HAVE A NICE DAY. Personally, I think pairing GET WELL SOON with its new sequel, HAVE A NICE DAY would make a great gift. Don't you?)
2) Send me the name of whoever (whomever? Those darn Whos down in Whoville) you'd like me to sign the book plate(s) for (That was a horribly un-gramatical sentence).
3) Send me the address where you'd like me to mail the bookplate(s).
It's that easy! I can only mail bookplates within the US, since I can't guarantee that I can get to a post office during business hours. I just mailed my new manuscript to my editor, and, what do you know, she read it and already has my editorial letter. I have to bust ass on this one and get it back in less than two weeks. I think that may have been the reason I couldn't sleep last night. Happy holidays to me?
Now get shopping!
1) Send me (email julie@juliehalpern.com) a copy of a receipt (or forward an electronic receipt) for any of my books that you purchase for a holiday gift (There are four to choose from: GET WELL SOON, INTO THE WILD NERD YONDER, DON'T STOP NOW, and HAVE A NICE DAY. Personally, I think pairing GET WELL SOON with its new sequel, HAVE A NICE DAY would make a great gift. Don't you?)
2) Send me the name of whoever (whomever? Those darn Whos down in Whoville) you'd like me to sign the book plate(s) for (That was a horribly un-gramatical sentence).
3) Send me the address where you'd like me to mail the bookplate(s).
It's that easy! I can only mail bookplates within the US, since I can't guarantee that I can get to a post office during business hours. I just mailed my new manuscript to my editor, and, what do you know, she read it and already has my editorial letter. I have to bust ass on this one and get it back in less than two weeks. I think that may have been the reason I couldn't sleep last night. Happy holidays to me?
Now get shopping!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
