Ticket to Ride, or “Train” as it is affectionately known by the Friday-night Train group consisting of me, Daniel, my sister Juliana and bro-in-law Reo.

The best part of Train is when two players build on parallel tracks and call out “Train Buddies!”

As you might have guessed, this is not actually a rule.  In fact, I doubt anyone else does it.  But in our group it’s a long standing tradition.

I was reminded of Train Buddies when a picture surfaced from YA writer extraordinaire  and French-fry sharing-BFF Sarah Ockler.

This photo was taken at lunch one day during last year’s National Council for Teachers of English convention in Philadelphia, and it is full-color proof that I am, indeed, BFFs with Rebecca Stead, this year’s Newbery medalist.  If you’ll direct your eyes to the back row, from left to right, you will see famous authors Rebecca Stead, Sarah Ockler, and then ME!  On the bottom row, David Macinnis Gill, Jo Knowles, and of course, Sara Zarr (who is my friend in real life, so she doesn’t really count.   Let’s get back to the imaginary friends, shall we?)

Now, you might think that we were all eating lunch on a train, because, you know, why else would this picture of buddies remind me of  Train Buddies?  Alas, this picture was taken at one of those boring stationary restaurants.

The picture reminded me of Train Buddies because I took the train from my hotel to the conference every day, and it ended up being one of the best parts of the trip.   Unlike my imaginary buddies at this table, who likely don’t remember my name, my buddies from the train…well, they probably don’t remember my name either.  But we did get to bond over  our jaunt into the city.

I met two English-teachers from Arizona who taught at an almost entirely Spanish speaking school.  I met a girl from SoCal who was following Phish on their comeback tour.  I met a local who worked for the fine state of PA, who was one of the most gracious, caring women I’ve ever known.  I met a teacher from Ohio who knew all about Mormonism–because of what she had learned in a scrapbooking magazine!

Too bad it’s so abnormal to take pictures of the inside of a train car.  I’d love a picture of those buddies most of all.

I found this photo a long time ago and loved it…but it is only now that I have summoned the savvy to share it.

What do you think?  Will this image hold true much longer?

Happy Post-Valentine’s Day Post!  I hope everyone is feeling adequately loved, or at least adequately comforted by chocolate.  These cupcakes were made by my oh-so-talented sister Juliana and they rest upon an old-school Strawberry Shortcake paper plate.   Remember old-school Strawberry Shortcake?

I so don’t get why they made Strawberry Shortcake look all different now.  She had a good look going.

This Valentine’s Day was unique because I had  conversations with various friends about  their “love language.”

For those unfamiliar with the love language concept, a brief synopsis.  When Daniel and I got married, we received two copies of this book called THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES.  According to the author, everyone speaks one of five love languages.  So, to truly show love for someone, you must determine what says LOVE to them, and then act accordingly.  I have to admit I did not read this book, but I think the languages are: gifts, acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation and something else.  I don’t know, look it up–supposedly this is a very popular book.

Because I am obviously anti-love, this book, and the concept never spoke to me.  I think Chomsky would say I lacked the “love language acquisition device” early in life. Case in point:

THINGS THAT MADE ME FEEL LOVED THIS WEEK

1.  THE WAY HE LIVED got great reviews from the fine bloggers at Fire and Ice,  Writers Butt Does Not Apply to Me, and Reading List of A Book Pusher.  Every time a reader connects with my book, it feels like the first time (“It feels like the very first time”).  Someone gets it.  I’ve been able to touch someone as an author, which has been my dream for as long as I can remember.

Not to mention the AMAZING review I got this week at  The Internet Review of Books. In her essay, fiction editor Julie McGuire lists THE WAY HE LIVED as one of her top 10 favorite YA books.  Ever.  Like, on the same list as John Green and Laurie Halse Anderson and Neil Gaiman and Suzanne Collins and even–wait for it–Sherman Alexie.  (I was going to link to one of my other posts about my obsession with Sherman Alexie, but which to choose?).

Me, sharing space with Sherman Alexie?  Feel the love.

2.  When he learned I was having trouble finding the sock drawer organizer I wanted, Daniel made me one!  While  I was online, trying to decide whether or not to pony up the $9.99 (plus shipping), he constructed a similar organizer from a cardboard box.  He knows how much I hate to spend money and thus hate traditional “gifts.”  So this was like an act of service/gift/quality time hybrid.  As love languages go, I guess this was like speaking Esperanto to me.

3.  I get nightmares.  Every night.  And I wake up screaming, and Dan has learned that, much like a three-month-old, it is rare indeed for me to sleep through the night.  I remember my nightmares.  Vividly.  I also remember that some people have happy dreams, because why else would we call “dream come true” a “dream come true?”

I wanted a happy dream.  And this week, I had one!

If you haven’t read about my awesome encounter with Sabrina, the current girlfriend of my high school crush Adam,  you must check it out, because in addition to it being the best story ever, it provides background for this dream.  So, for some reason I was back in high school, but this time it was chill, because for some reason I was happy to be there, and I was just walking along and I saw Adam and Sabrina (in real life, I don’t know what Sabrina looks like, as we’ve never met).  And they were like, “hey!  Do you want to organize the prom?”  and I was like, “Heck yes!”

So for the prom the high school held a dinner, which was a traditional Sedar, because, you know, there’s a big Jewish population in suburban Utah.   Afterward we had a dance, DJed by a rabbi who taught us a bunch of traditional Jewish dances.  In the dream, I was an excellent dancer, and I also knew the difference between left and right.

This is my love language, right or wrong.

This picture, taken outside the lovely Mandalay Bay, was one of the last ones I managed to squeeze out of my camera before the battery died.  I have nary a photo of the chocolate desserts I ate on this trip.  And believe me:  I ate MANY  a chocolate dessert.

For anyone who wants to read a great synopsis of the trip from the POVs of three pretty darn funny writers, check out these entries by  Brodi, Sara B., and Valynne .

I’d offer a synopsis of my own, but I have a grand total of three pictures from the trip, and one is just of Brodi’s hand.   Now, I did ask my friends to take pictures in my stead.  And they did, because they rock like that.  But then they didn’t send them to me.  How can this be?  I know when I get home from a trip the first thing I want to do is email my friend approximately 3 gillion gigabytes of chocolate cake photos.

Now, a word about Barry Manilow:

For those who might not know, my dream is to see Barry Manilow perform before I turn 30, on October 14 of this year.  And it turns out there are more people than I though who actually would want to go see Barry, too.  Thus the Barry Committee, headed by me, is making plans for a Barry Pilgrimage, of sorts, in which we all convene at his new showroom in the Paris, Las Vegas.   Time and dates are TBA, but chime in here in the comments if you’d like to join us.  It will be a rollicking good time, I guarantee it.  Even if nobody plays a single penny slot.   But I probably will.

Thanks to all those who came to Authorpalooza on Saturday!  It was great to see old friends, meet new ones, and see the amazing amount of literature coming out of Utah.  This is the place, dawgs.

I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s been a tough go of it for me and pants.

It started out last summer, when I went shopping with my established-writer (and thus very, very, wealthy) BFF Sara.  I needed pants.  I don’t like shopping for pants because I’m oddly shaped.  My torso-to-leg ratio is apparently way, way off, so jeans hang several inches below my ankles.   I’m short, but I’m not that short–just my legs are.  So jeans also hang several inches below my waist.  Which would be A-OK was I a thong sportin’ type of girl, but I am not.  Thus, the all-day search began.

We ended up at Nordstrom, where my wealthy friend was appalled by my inability to pay a SALE PRICE of $85 for a pair of jeans that fit.  So I threw caution to the wind and purchased them.

They were similar to this, except they had had small copper studs on the pocket.  These studs promptly fell off, one after the other in sad-after-sad wash.  The jeans now looked stupid.  I had paid EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS for them!  On sale!  An exchange was necessary.

However, they no longer manufacture these jeans, because, you know, they were on sale.  Why make sale-jeans year round?  So I found the similar-looking jeans not on sale and asked to exchange them.  Which I could, but only for the NOT ON SALE price!  So instead I returned them and came home with $85 and no pants.  I mean, I had pants on.  But that was it.

I was indignant when I relayed the story to my husband, who recapped my 45-minute saga into this:  “So you bought a pair of jeans, wore them for six months, returned them and got back the exact amount of money you paid for them?”

I could sense a trick.  Like he was trying to make me look like the crazy one in all this.  “Yes, but now I don’t have any pants!”  (Again, don’t misunderstand:  I was wearing pants).  “I just wanted pants for pants.  And they wanted to charge me an additional$30 to do so!  Making my pants a total of $115!  I can’t spend $115 for a pair of  jeans.  Who am I, Blair Waldorf?”

He ignored the lame Gossip Girl reference and pointed out that actually, I was getting a pair-and-a-half of jeans for $115, since I’d already worn the other pair so thoroughly.  “It’s like you were leasing your pants,” he explained.

Everyone knows leasing is a rip-off.

In other news, check back soon for my next post, in which I explain why SIXer and writer BFF Brodi Ashton went on a hunger strike every day on our trip to Vegas (Hint:  she was protesting the fact that we weren’t seeing Barry Manilow, until we reminded her that he doesn’t start performing until March 5–mark your calendar now!  The next day she would forget again, and the hunger strike resumed.  Oh, Brodi.  We never actually ended up eating until after 3 p.m).

The Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers Workshop is now open for registration!  For those not familiar with this workshop, click the link, of course, but here’s the shorthand:  This is a week-long conference, June 14-June 18. It will  be held at a great new venue, the Waterford School in Sandy, Utah.  You will meet and work with some of the best writers, illustrators, editors and agents in the business.  Seriously.  I know tons of writers who’ve gotten their start at this conference–including me!

Which makes it all the sweeter that this year I’ll be  an instructor, teaching the Beginning Novel class.  So whether you’ve just started writing for kids/teens, already have a completed manuscript, already have several completed manuscripts–basically wherever you are in your career, there is a class for you and you will benefit!  Register now and tell me in the comments so I can look out for you!

Also in Sandy, but coming up much sooner, is the Authorpalooza at the SouthTowne Barnes and Noble on Saturday, February 6! Come hang out with a bunch of Utah authors anytime between 1-4 p.m!  I’ll be there, but more importantly, so will Bree Despain, rock star of The Six,  James Dashner, andso many others I’m not sure who they all are.  If you haven’t gotten a copy of my book yet, this is an excellent opportunity because they will definitely have it in stock!

Meanwhile, my brother left for his mission in Des Moines, Iowa last week.  He gave me his phone while he ’s gone.  Apparently no one wanted it because it was a “girl phone.”  Which prompted me to ask: “Why didn’t the girls want it?”  He didn’t tell me, so maybe something is wrong with the phone I don’t know about but still.  My own phone.  That I don’t have to pay for.  That has TEXT.  That I may or may not ever use.  Just having possession of it is full of possibilities.

I am delighted that Rebecca Stead’s When You Reach Me got the Newbery.  I mean, the award came to the surprise of no one (the book is THAT GOOD), but as we all know, upsets happen.  In addition to my delight because the book I wanted to win actually won, there is the tingle I get from remembering that Rebecca Stead and I are actually BFFs.

And by BFFs I mean that when I was in Philadelphia a month or so ago for the NCTE conference I ran into my friend Sara Z., who was signing books next to an attractive woman she didn’t need to introduce but did, and it was REBECCA STEAD!  And I said some dumb things I don’t remember, but she was very cool about it, and I thought, “I could totally be BFFs  with this woman.”   And then, we had lunch with a bunch of other people, and I again thought, “Seriously, we’d be great BFFs.”

So yeah, that’s how we’re BFFs.

Also, Kekla Magoon won the Coretta Scott King/ John Steptoe New Talent Award for her outstanding The Rock and the River.  Kekla and I are also BFFs in the sense that she wouldn’t know me if she passed me on the street.  But I had the honor of being in her workshop group my first semester at Vermont College, and her work was my favorite.  And of course, I was so confident in my excellent taste that I knew she was Going Somewhere.   Yea!

In other A-related news, my little brother Andy is leaving on an LDS mission tomorrow.

Of all my brothers and sisters, I’ve always felt that Andy and I were the most alike.  We share a tenancy toward insomnia, deep thoughts, and general nuttiness.  When I was in high school, Andy and I would write each other notes (he was in grade school at the time):

Thanks for a great childhood, A.L.  I know the next two years are going to change everything.  In a good way.

Here are some photos from her spectacular launch:

I love this picture of Bree with our friend Kika, book blogger, college student and donner of  the Official Footwear of Tonga.  Aren’t they cute?  (Rhetorical question).

Valynne, sporting DARK DIVINE nail polish.  Yes, the book has its own official color (to match the gorgeous cover).  If you go to one of Bree’s upcoming signings, you too could be lucky enough to snag a complimentary bottle!

And of course, the obligatory picture of me because honestly, what is this blog without me?  (Rhetorical question).   Here I am, showing off the delectable pigs n’ blanket I made for the launch.  Said pigs were devoured 2.4 seconds after this picture was taken.  Thanks Valynne, for sending this photo along– because of you, it isn’t sideways.  Brava!

Some cool things are happening this week.  Now that my book THE WAY HE LIVED  has been out for over a year, I thought reviews (and attention in general) about it would be minimal.  So, I had no problem when Great Guy Dan set me up with Google Alert.  I thought basically nothing would happen, much like when I’d do a  Google vanity search and repeatedly be asked “Did you mean Emily KING Smith?”

Then Google alerted me to this awesome review of TWHL by Sarah of the Readergirlz Street Team!  I LOVE readergirlz, and their Street Team.  If you like anything to do with teen books, check out the website.  It’s amazing, and they have really popular writers guest chat all the time!

My publicist was the one who told me about  the review of Carolyn Mackler’s YA TANGLED in this month’s School Library Journal.  I’ve enjoyed Mackler’s books in the past, so imagine my surprise to read this part of the review:  “As powerfully depicted as Emily Wing Smith’s The Way He Lived (Flux, 2008), the various viewpoints weave together to create a compelling and cohesive whole.”  Read the entire review here.

Meanwhile, I have arranged lunch dates every day this week, so that I can take home the leftovers and Great Guy Dan and I can eat them together, thus avoiding yet another week of grocery shopping.  Great plan, right?

(Rhetorical question).

For awhile now, my BFF writers group has needed to come up with a name.  Back in 2005, when we first formed the group, didn’t need a name.  We were smaller then–it was just me, Kim and Bree.  The three of us had met a few years earlier as BYU students, when we took  Louise Plummer’s class Writing the Young Adult Novel.

Then Sara  joined on, then Valynne, then Brodi.   Time marched on.  Books were written; agents acquired.  Meltdowns occurred.   And suddenly we needed a name.

So, we had our first official non-writing-related meeting, at which we decided to determine a name, and once and for all, figure out who was the craziest.  After much discussion, it was decided that yes, we were simply The SIX, and yes, Brodi was the craziest.

(Was there ever any doubt?)

Brodi, I would have added the more flattering shot of you in a leopard-print Snuggie, but it’s one of those blasted vertical photos I can’t rotate for the life of me.

Because Brodi, in all her crazy, had long-ago asked to be club ledger keeper, we appointed her as such (Off topic: do you have any idea how hard it is to find a ledger these days?  Trying to find one for Brodi this Christmas ended up being so impossible I just bought her a notebook and spelled out “Ledger” on it in official-looking stickers) (If there are such  things as official looking stickers).

That meant the rest of us needed figurehead positions as well.   Valynne, who’s long been our bouncer, was rightfully named Secretary of Defense.  Sara, with her exquisite taste in shoes, was deemed Sartorial Advisor.  Bree is the Hair Consultant, of course, when she’s not busy acting as Nutritionist.  Kim is secretary because she’s the only one who can remember everybody’s birthday (I love you 4/22)!  I was originally head cheerleader, until my physical coordination was brought into question.  I became Cruise Director, because while my physical coordnination is sub-par, my ability to coordinate everything else is…well, also sub-par, but what can you do?

I have to say, The SIX is the writers group of all writers groups.  I am lucky to have them.

Just so you know, I went to a lot of trouble to rotate and re-save that photo, and it still didn’t work.  Small wonder that blogging makes me  so defeated. Anyway, This Guy is my brother Ethan, in a picture taken just hours before his wedding to the beautiful and delightful Cami.

You can’t see her face very well in this shot, but perhaps she doesn’t want her face associated with this blog anyway.

On our way to Spokane, my brother Andy and sister Hannah were making very poor Spokane puns.  When we landed at the airport, Andy wondered if the local newspaper was called the “Spo-kane Word,” which is just bad on so many levels it’s embarrassing.  I did not have the pleasure of driving to the hotel with them, but by the time we arrived the puns had disintegrated into Andy commenting that it was “Spo-chilly.”

Between the Spo-chilliness and the ceaseless Spo-jokes, the trip was shaping up to, more or less, blow.  Until I discovered we were less than a mile from designated Native American lands.  Noting that my hero, Sherman Alexie, refers to himself as Spokane Indian, I insisted Dan and I go on an impromptu trip to The Rez.

DAN:  What are we supposed to do when we get there?

ME: We see the sights, then ask somebody if this is indeed Sherman Alexie’s birth-rez.

DAN:  Um, are we supposed to call it that?

This was my first time on a rez, and I have to admit to finding it baffling.  I had expected some sort of mobile-home community with people standing outside selling bracelets.  I expected this not because I believe stereotypes, but because my friend Nancy (who is not Native American but lives on a rez to provide health care) has told me it’s actually the case. All I saw on this rez was a casino/restaurant, a soon-to-open luxury hotel, and a gigantic parking structure.  Upon entering the casino restaurant,  I noticed the people running the place looked as Native American as I did.  Which is to say they did not look Native American at all.

If you can’t tell what I’m standing next to in this picture, no worries, because I can’t either.  It was some sort of display case with dolls and stuffed animals, but neither looked very Native American.   Still, I couldn’t very well pose next to the sorry-looking restaurant.  And I don’t think I would have been allowed to take a picture of the vending machine selling both cigarettes and Grandma’s Cookies (it was located in the casino). Finally, I asked a cashier with bleached hair and acrylic nails if she happened to know if a  famous writer named Sherman Alexie had ever lived on this rez.

WHITE LADY WORKING AT THE CASINO:  Do you know what tribe he’s from?

ME: …Spokane?…

Turns out there are like 14 reservations in Spokane.  I’m still not sure any people actually live on this one.

Spo-tastic entrance to what is probably not Sherman Alexie’s rez.