Thanks so much to everyone who played Grammar Nazi with Lisa today. Come on over anytime, there’s plenty more where that came from! The book, however, goes to the FIRST person to catch the error, so congratulations to Proofreader Patty! She correctly observed that I should have used “woven”, not “weaved.”

HOWEVER, according to Grammarist, the use of weaved in the review was only “questionable.”

Which is a label that can pretty much be applied to everything I do.

Patty, your book is in the mail. Everyone else, get on over to Tate and buy a copy.

As in keeping with this blog, I’ve written a Haiku Review of a new YA book.

Anne Summerton goes

to fetch handsome Jonas Blake!

A Fun YA Tale.

Was that helpful? Okay, so I’ve written a REAL review on Amazon. But here’s the kicker. It not only tells you how I feel about the book, it contains a *grammatical error. I. Am. Awesome. Be the first person to find it and post what it is in the comments, and I’ll send you a FREE copy of the book. I’ve enable the comment approval system so you won’t be able to see them until the contest is over. Let’s say Noon, tomorrow. Click HERE to go to Amazon.

If you win, I’ll mail the book anywhere in the US. If you don’t, buy the darn book anyway!

*I’m thinking of ONE specific error. There are no prizes for finding more than that, Smarty Pants.

UPDATE: The Amazon link says they are out of stock. If you don’t want to order and wait, OR if you want to download as an e-book, go HERE.

Well, it’s official, my book is OUT ON SUBMISSION. As in submitted, to a real editor at a real publishing house! My agent, the wonderful and talented Susan Hawk, sent me a list last week of editors she thought might be interested in my book. Fourteen people, at fourteen publishing houses, some of which I had actually heard of! Fourteen people who could make a decision and take a dream that started when I was in third grade and make it a reality. No pressure, people, just read it at your leisure!

As I understand it, once the editors have had time to look it over, Susan will get back in touch with them. And if they don’t like it? I have no idea what happens. I assume she’ll send it to another group, perhaps a bit lesser known, and see if THEY bite. I imagine this process will continue until finally, it’s just my book and some dude in the basement of his mother’s house in Detroit, cranking up his mimeograph machine.

Whatever. At this point, my book is like a little sister I’ve lovingly raised, only to watch her run desperately from person to person, looking for someone, anyone to tell her they love her. If she does find someone willing to put a ring on her finger, I’ll celebrate her great fortune. And if she doesn’t, I’ll pick her up, dust her off and remind her that she was lovingly and wonderfully made. Despite what the literary world says, she was created for a purpose. Her purpose might just involve a mimeograph machine.

The hotly anticipated YA novel Shatter Me, by Tahereh Mafi, hit the shelves on Tuesday and because I’m sick of being the last one to read anything, I bought it. And now you can benefit from my awesome review.

In Haiku, cause that’s how I roll.

Her touch will bring death

In this dystopian tale

Or is it X-men?

Was that helpful? No? Fine, check out more reviews here.

I have a writing friend that writes metaphors beautifully. I can’t. Her metaphors are like beautiful wildflowers popping up where you least expect them. See, I stink. Plus, that was a simile.

Whatever. Someone sent me a list of Analogies and I thought I’d share. My favorite is number four. Enjoy!

World’s Funniest Analogies.

–Annual English Teachers’ awards for best student metaphors/analogies
found in actual student papers:

–His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

–He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy
who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those
boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at
high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one
of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just
before it throws up.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling
ball wouldn’t.

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie,
surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and
Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry
them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the
grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left
Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at
4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met.

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East
River.

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one
that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law George. But unlike George,
this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating
for a while.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a
real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or
something.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with
power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if
she were a garbage truck backing up