*hey there, it's christa*

When Authors Interview Other Authors...

A couple of weeks ago I was in Santa Monica (I know, I know, tough job, but someone has to do it, right?) for a movie junket and had an opportunity to interview Nicholas Sparks, you know the guy who writes weepy love stories like The Notebook and Nights in Rodanthe.

This time around, he was talking about The Last Song, Miley Cyrus' first big non-Hannah Montana role, not to mention a big first for him...his first screenplay.

As a fellow author, I always love hearing how other writers make it all work, so I found what he had to say very intriguing—especially the part about how easy it is to write a screenplay. I find the formatting alone absolutely intimidating (but he's got a solution for that...will have to give that a try!).

Who Wants a Free Movie?

To celebrate the DVD release of The Blind Side, I am giving away copies to two lucky movie fans (thanks to Warner Bros.) who leave a comment after this post.

Just to make sure we give everyone a fair shot, I will announce the winners on my blog on Thursday, April 1 (no, that's not an April Fool's joke), so good luck to all!!

File Under: Random Movie Musing

I don't know why, but every time I've seen this movie trailer (or even just the poster), I get a major case of the giggles. I mean, c'mon Hot Tub Time Machine? How dumb is that going to be?

But after watching him in some truly lame roles (see 2012, Martian Child, that scary hotel room movie with Samuel L. Jackson), maybe everybody's favorite everyman John Cusack will be in fine Better Off Dead form.

Here's hoping anyway...

I Guess I've Got A Major Case of Literary A-D-D...

I know, I know, we're not supposed to judge a book by its cover. But what if the cover made you laugh (in a good way) every time you saw it?

Such was the case with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Every time I saw this book on the endcap at my local Borders, I thought I have to read that, but for whatever reason didn't buy it immediately. Instead, I waited for my hubby to do the honors.

Only days after I picked up Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters for the holiday plane ride to Colorado Springs to see the fam, P&P&Z ended up being one of my Christmas gifts. And since I didn't care much for S&S&S, I hoped there was something more redeeming about it than just its cover and a clever-enough idea.

Well, last week, (yes, more than two months after Christmas) I finally cracked the cover, eagerly awaiting the clash of proper Austen women and those creepy, aforementioned zombies, and I was bored by page chapter three. Apparently, the barista who regularly makes my caramel lattes at Caribou felt the same way...so it was good to know I wasn't alone in my plight.

Assuming it was a merely a one-off, after all, I'm the girl who always finishes every books she starts, no matter how bad it is (well, except for War & Peace where I lost patience with all the very similar Russian names and couldn't keep track of who everybody was), I decided to give the Sense and Sensibility mash-up another try instead of spending any more time with Elizabeth Bennett and those zombies.

And it happened again, right around the chapter three mark— sheer, utter boredom. For whatever reason, the sea monsters didn't feel fully integrated into the story. I felt like the author approached the project like a Mad Lib, merely filling in the blanks with enough sea monster references to make the story live up to the title's promise. Even with the aforementioned re-reading (you know, to make sure I was really, truly right about how I felt), I simply couldn't continue. Cute covers or not, I was just not that into these books.

Abandoning all things Austen, (and zombies and sea monsters, for that matter), I opted for something totally different...a memoir with a fascinating title, Mennonite in a Little Black Dress. Since there were several Mennonites in the small town I grew up in, I couldn't help but be intrigued by Rhoda Janzen's account of "going home." And since several authors I've enjoyed in the past gave their wholehearted endorsement, well, I thought it was a safe bet.

But as you probably suspected, I didn't find it quite as "hilarious," "compelling" and "insightful" as the book jacket raved. About seven chapters in (well, at least I made it a bit farther, right?), I was no longer interested. After a relatively inspired beginning, the prose was painfully slow, and I felt like I was on the receiving end of a conversation I was never meant to hear. In a nutshell, the stories of her past relationships were way too TMI...in fact, it's the stuff of your average episode of Jerry Springer, but without all the yelling and chair throwing.

After my adventures with the Mennonites, I opted for women's fiction. It was as comfortable like chicken noodle soup, a big ol' bowl of pasta or my favorite down blanket. Ahh, good, reliable women's fiction, there's a genre that's rarely done me wrong, right?

Wrong again.

I've enjoyed plenty of Marion Keyes' work in the past, so I decided to check out The Brightest Star in the Sky, which was recently awarded a starred review by Publisher's Weekly, the industry standard of the literary world. While I hated the gimmicky POV from the get-go (the book is narrated by the spirit of life, just so ya know, a technique that never really takes off), I decided to keep reading, hoping the characters would draw me in.

Yeah, not so much. 

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for creativity. After all, my novels are in both first and third person so the reader can enjoy a variety of perspectives. But this particular move simply didn't serve the story well (in my humble opinion, natch), so I was forced, once again, to give the book my personal pink slip.

For whatever reason, I guess I've got a major case of literary A-D-D. Or perhaps, I'm just picking up the wrong books. So now I'm opening my next novel selection to your suggestions. What do you think I should read next and why? C'mon, help a girl out, won't ya?

Imagine That: No TMI, Just Music

Truth be told, it hasn't been easy calling myself a John Mayer fan lately. While it's been relatively easy in the past to separate the music from the man with the annoying tendency to overshare (read any of his previous tweets, and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about), his recent comments have not only been racist and insulting, but have lacked anything resembling good taste.

Mind you, it's not that I expect my favorite rock stars to abide by a certain moral code, that's a personal choice. But some things simply cross the line of common decency, and Mayer's comments, whether to Rolling Stone or Playboy, did that in spades. I was disgusted for everyone involved—even Jessica Simpson—and as a result, probably wouldn't have bought tickets after hearing all those foul things he said on the record.

Since I got my tickets for the "Battle Studies" tour long before Mayer's reckless words made headlines in seemingly every publication 'round the globe (they were a birthday present from my sweetie), Will and I went to his show at the Xcel Center last night, hoping that he'd shut his mouth and stick with what he does best: playing great pop songs. 

And that's exactly what he did, save for his rambling quasi-mea culpa where he briefly alluded to his bad judgment and thanked the audience for its constant support of him anyway, a nice-ish gesture of goodwill and an acknowledgment that he messed up—big time.

Aside from that, the rest of the evening was wisely dedicated to Mayer's songs of past and present, a well-chosen set list that mostly focused on his latest album, Battle Studies. While Battle Studies is definitely not my favorite album in Mayer's discography, the songs (even ho-hum ones like "Assassins" and "Perfectly Lonely") do translate very well in the live setting, thanks to a better sound system (there was something decidedly flat about the actual recording, in my opinion), great background visuals and a passionate vocal performance. 

But the night's best moments definitely belonged to the songs of Mayer's past, sparkling live renditions of "Why Georgia," "No Such Thing," his scaled-back cover of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'" and an inspired mash-up of "In My Atmosphere" with "Something's Missing," a track that's particularly poignant in light of everything that's happened in Mayer's world lately. Come to think of it, maybe "My Stupid Mouth" would've been even better, but he didn't sing that one (too obvious, I guess).

Aside from the music, of course, a John Mayer show always offers the pleasure of really choice people-watching. True to form, the girls were screaming and squealing as if Zac Efron or a Jo Bro just walked by, which I don't get considering that Mayer sported a hideous, black wifebeater that showed off his plethora of arm art. And for anyone wondering at home, yes, his infamous froggie face was in full force. Apparently the one way he can do his falsetto or hit the high notes is by contorting his face in a very unattractive manner, but hey, if it isn't broke, why fix it, right?

Incidentally, the girls sitting directly behind us made me feel very old. Not only did they scream and squeal with such gusto that it made Will and I's ears hurt, but they managed to ruin Mayer's popular songs in the process by yelling the words in a particularly tone-deaf manner. At one point it was so bad, I turned around and gave one the stink-eye, which admittedly did little to quell their enthusiasm.

Equally entertaining was a guy in front of us who thought interpretative dance would be a nice addition to the festivities. The guy had one, maybe two beers, and was very, very happy, much to the chagrin of his wife who hasn't amused in the least by his waving arms and inherent dedication to acting out every one of Mayer's lyrics. At one point, his arms were fwailing (is that how you spell fwailing...doesn't look right, but I'm going with it) directly in my personal space, but before I lost an eye, his wife decided it was time to take him home. Sadly, his departure didn't make the Mayer's encore quite as fun, but I even survived through "Who Says," which, incidentally, still hasn't won me over—even with far better production quality.

One final P.S.: In the "File Under: Disturbing" category, I was a little embarrassed for my gender last night. While I fully expect girls to scream and yell "I Love You, John" because it's happened at the seven other shows I've been to, I was sad for the twenty-something who held up a sign that said "Sex?" for the concert's duration, hoping, of course, that John would see it. And given his reputation for indulging with his groupies, I'm sure she thought her bold approach just might work. As I thought about the girl holding the sign, though, I could feel is sad for such a shameless attempt to get his (and presumably any other guy in the room's attention). Ick. Ick. Ick.

Book Comment: Paula Deen—It Ain't All About the Cookin'

I've been on a major biography kick lately, so I thought it was high time to read the reigning Queen of Butter, Paula Deen's life story. I am a major Food Network junkie, after all, so it just felt appropriate. And like any of her delicious, calorie-laden Southern-fried recipes, It Ain't All About The Cookin' definitely didn't disappoint.

Truth be told, like a good hoe cake, it's a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Not only are her myriad of accomplishments—and the long, winding road to getting there—fun to read about (and yeah, she started at forty-something, not twenty-something), but her accounts of dealing with agoraphobia and life after losing her precious parents at a young age couldn't help but tug at your heart.

And like that gossipy, chatterbox aunt that just about everyone has, Paula also isn't shy about admitting her shortcomings, whether it's smoking or a regrettable dalliance with a married man for the better part of ten years after the collapse of her first marriage. In her conversational tone sprinkled with plenty of y'alls, she highly recommends that readers don't follow in those particular footsteps. But when it comes to making the best fried chicken, she's happy for everyone to follow her cue.

Rating: 3 stars out of four.

Book Comment: "Nanny Returns"

Given that I've been a nanny twice (one experience truly rocked while the other, well, I won't even go there...but trust me, I've got stories), I definitely enjoyed reading Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus' The Nanny Diaries back when it released in 2007.

Filled with humor, a healthy dose of cynicism and plenty of madcap adventures in substitute parenting for the upper income set, it also provided an intriguing take on what it's like being a nanny in Manhattan. After all, the kids of the Upper West Side aren't just your standard-issue kids. They're accessories like the latest Birkin bag. And while I'm not sure if they were actually nannies themselves, knew a few or simply did their due diligence with research, these authors write about the experience with the knowing conviction of someone who's been there.

Now many years after leaving the X Family (she was fired in the most spectacular of fashion for no reason, of course), Nan is happily married (to Harvard Hottie, natch) and no longer needs a nanny gig to pay the rent. But when the little boy she used to take care of (Grayer is a not-so-well-adjusted teen now) unexpectedly shows up drunk and searching for the reason she abandoned him all those years ago, Nan finds herself wrapped back up in the X's emotionally frenetic world.

Without giving too much away for anyone who's still planning to read Nanny Returns, the majority of the old characters are back from The Nanny Diaries—and far worse for the wear—in this fascinating, engaging read. While the book's money-isn't-everything takeaway value certainly isn't anything we haven't all heard before, the way the story reaches that particular conclusion will certainly keep you intrigued from start to finish. In fact, it's a rare case where the sequel to a very popular book really satisfies as you discover what happens after the happy-ever-after ending. To sum it up in a couple of words: It's complicated.

Fun in a Fictional World

Thanks to fellow writer Cathy Bryant for letting me make a cameo on her blog, WordVessel, today. :)

Not only do I talk about how I got involved with the whole writing thing, but I reveal which characters from my books are my favorite (along with a few other fun revelations, too).

I'm also giving away three copies of both of my novels (yes, six books in all, so make sure to leave a comment if you'd like to win something new to read).

File Under: Movie Randomness

As many of you already know, watching tons and tons of movies (good, bad and otherwise) is all in a day's work for yours truly.

So from time to time I can't help but notice a few random qualities my favorites all have in common (and no, it's not just Hugh Grant in a starring role).

Lately I've been noticing how every protagonist has a very specific place for his/her keys (usually a handy-dandy decorative bowl that serves no other purpose than, well, holding the keys).

Basically, rather than throwing them on the counter or the first place that feels convenient at the time like most people do, (yes, something that's a huge time-waster once you're forced to search for them) part of establishing the character's home life (those few precious moments not spent at the office or meeting cute) in so many scripts is the simple act of having said character put the keys in that designated spot. Pretty random, huh?

For anyone reading who now thinks I'm a bit bonkers, I double dare you...watch a Nancy Meyers or Nora Ephron rom-com (or even something critically hideous but somewhat personally endearing like The Wedding Planner), and you'll see. Apparently, a specific place for your keys is pretty important...a window to the soul or whatever.

As for me, life is just a bit more fun or hectic (take your pick) when I have to hunt for them.

Christmas Unwrapped

From my .02 on Black Friday shopping to my favorite Christmas memories and much, much more, check out my thoughts @ Backseat Writer, the brainchild of Amy Sondova, one of my favorite writing peeps.