"Who Moved My Mouse?" - UK Edition
/My Little, Brown editor sent me the proposed cover for the UK edition of Who Moved My Mouse? I love the cat they used. That "Who are you and what do you want with me?" stare is perfect.

My Little, Brown editor sent me the proposed cover for the UK edition of Who Moved My Mouse? I love the cat they used. That "Who are you and what do you want with me?" stare is perfect.

Sorry to be blog-silent for so long. I got back from Ohio and had an e-mail waiting from my editor at Ten Speed Press. We're on round two of revisions. Round one was the editor going through the book and making suggestions/comments. I was surprised (and quite happy) at how few revisions there were. I'd heard stories of books coming back with all but five words crossed out, asking for rewrites. I had tissues and Tylenol standing by but, thankfully, they weren't needed.
This round is all about the copy editing. And this copy editor is GOOD. Straightening up my prose right and left. Plus, she's a cat person, and had some helpful comments/suggestions on some of the text outside copy editing.
It's hard to believe I'll have to wait until October for the finished product. The book seems to be just winging along. I've got sample pages for how the book will be laid out and I've been approving illustrations for over a month. The book is already listed on Amazon and on Random House's author page.
This is it though. This week is my last chance to make any substantial revisions to the book, so I'm going through with a fine tooth comb. My writer friends have been there in spades for me, responding to my anxious e-mails about "which is the funnier cat litter joke" as though they had all the time in the world to spare.
I'm surprisingly calm about the whole thing. The only thing that makes me ancy is thinking about all the publicity I need to stir up. I've got a mile-long to-do list when it comes to marketing and promotion and I'm at the point where I need to start making things happen.
Got any great ideas for making a cat self-help book a bestseller? Send 'em my way!
Cheers,
Dena
My editor from Ten Speed Press wrote me to say that she thought my upcoming cat humor book would benefit from having an index. Only, God love her, it's not a real index. It's a humor index, in line with the parody of the rest of the book. So index references may read:
Butt Licking, social.... 48
Butt Licking, hobby... 22
Kibbles - see NOM-NOM-NOM... 18
I love that this is how I spend my day. I spent two hours at Panera (my satellite office for those new to the blog) last week, sipping coffee and brainstorming ideas like, "Toenails as grappling hooks." Who has a better job than me? NO ONE.
Of course, brainstorming is the fun part. Actually making something of the four pages of scribbled notes is something else. I'd say about 1 in every 8 ideas I come up with is worth keeping. The others are cliche, nonsensical, or just lame. I have no idea how long this index needs to be but I know I've still got hours and hours of work ahead of me. My goal is to have a solid, almost final draft complete before the end of the year.
Over the holidays some of you may snuggle with loved ones, others may sip eggnog and roast chestnuts, and still others may curl up in front of the TV to watch Christmas specials. As for me, I'll be writing index jokes about dust bunnies, grasshoppers, and the evil moving red dot of light.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS.
Author. Humorist. Fitness fanatic. Control freak. Mentor. Klutz. All-around decent human being.
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I want a cat.
There, I’ve said it. Proclaimed my intent to the Universe. Although I’m only willing to accept moderate blame when events transpire to actually bring a cat into my life.
I have no business getting a cat. A few strong reasons off the top of my head include:
And yet.
When I began sharing the news that I had taken a new job near Atlanta and was moving . . . spreading my wings. . . opening myself to new horizons. . . without fail the first comment from almost everyone was, “OMG. You know about the traffic there, right?”
Yes, I am aware of the traffic. Thank you for your loving concern and support.
So how bad is it really? Having lived here now for three months, I can tell you that the 12-mile drive to my office from home can take anywhere between. . .
One of the hardest decisions in moving to Atlanta was knowing I would be leaving behind my 25-year network of friends. These are friends that saw me through job changes (insurance adjuster, librarian, author, marketing maven), life changes (divorce, moves, dating), as well as were there for everything from my first published book to my first marathon to holding my hand when my cat died. A lot of years, a lot tears, much more laughter, and oodles and oodles of love.
In other words—not something easily replaced.
Of course, I’m not “leaving behind” friends but since the five-hour drive between Atlanta and Greensboro isn’t convenient for a quick movie or fro-yo meet-up, the burden is on me to make new friends.
The obvious place to make friends, for me, is the gym. I joined a big-ass Lifetime Fitness...
As most of you know, after 20+ years in NC, I’ve recently relocated to Georgia, about an hour outside of Atlanta. More updates on that later. Right now, I want to share with you the saga of the license plate. It’s a story that more or less sums up my life. What takes other people twenty minutes, takes me 9 weeks, 8 phone calls, 4 DMV visits and a two-week plan to evade the law.
It all started the week I moved to Georgia. I was checking things off my list right and left (pictures hung in new home - check. Food in fridge – check. Wall art for half-bath – check, check, check) and in an effort to be pro-active, toddled off to the DMV to get my GA driver’s license. I showed up prepared for anything – NC driver’s license, passport, pay stub, and invoices from gas, electric and trash removal verifying my new address. I approached the teller window.
Teller: “Social security card.”
Me: “I don’t have that, but here’s my passport.”
Teller: “I can’t issue you a license without a social security card.”
I get a lot of questions about the best ways to train. Which, considering I spent the earlier part of this year on crutches, unable to run for four months due to an overuse injury that could have been avoided, I find somewhat amusing. Then there’s the immediate back-pedalling that takes place, usually in the form of, “But I don’t want to run, or get up at 4 am, or do anything that’s hard.”
Gotcha. I can work with that.
Below are five training tips I try to follow. I say try because let’s be honest—we’re all human and some days will be better than others. But these are the big picture items that have kept me pushing for the last ten years, and they are things anyone can adopt into their lifestyle.
1. Pick Something You Love
I can’t count the number of times people say to me, “Ugh, I know I need to run but I hate it.” Um… why exactly do you need to run? I hate Pure Barre and even though my butt never looked better during the month I took classes, I’m not going back.
When I first signed up for this half Ironman, I knew my swim would be slow and my ride would be average, so the plan was to make-up some time on the run. The Universe had other plans though, and handed me the stress fracture in my hip. It was literally only days before the race when my chiropractor agreed that I could try a walk/run of the course, but only if I swore a blood oath that if it hurt, I would stop. And, in a cruel twist of fate, advised that my best strategy would be to run the uphills and walk the down. That goes against everything I hold dear in life, but okay. I figured I would run a mile/walk a mile throughout the race for as long as I could.
My strategy worked perfectly… for the first quarter mile.
(ICYMI: Part I: THE SWIM)
Let’s call it like it is. I crushed the ride on this race. 18.71 average speed. My normal pace with a group where I’m drafting is closer to 17.5, so I had aspirations of maybe holding a 17 mph average. Crushed. It.
What helped me is my Garmin died before the ride even started, so I had no idea for the entire 56 miles what my pace was. I just rode according to how I felt. The first 3-5 miles were shaky (I kept repeating, “You’re out of the water. You’re alive.”), but then we turned right onto the highway, I settled into my arrow bars and literally said out loud, “Let’s make some time.”
Fun fact: They mark your age in sharpie on your left calf in an Ironman race. Not sure why, but...
On Sunday, June 4, I completed my first (because there will be more) Half Ironman. 1.2 mile swim. 56 mile bike ride. 13.1 mile run.
Being my first IM, there’s a lot to process, especially as I didn’t think I’d be able to complete the race due to my hip injury. I am thrilled beyond all words that I finished and probably most proud of the fact that I have (as of yet) to get the IM tattoo splattered across, you know, my face.
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