So did anyone hear that supposedly, a certain female pop star and her allegedly abusive boyfriend are back together? WTF? Am I the only one who thinks this person has lost her marbles?

Gawd. The girl is beyond gorgeous, extremely talented, has money growing on trees and the world pretty much wrapped around her finger. Why does she think she needs this guy? You know this will happen again, whether it makes national headlines or not. It’s a guarantee, because she has just let him know she’ll put up with it. The guy–a 19-year-old kid with an ego a bit too big for his designer britches–left bruises and cuts all over her face, and somewhere out there is a recording of her screaming 911 call. And she essentially said, “That’s okay, I love you baby, let’s stay together.” I know leaving is easier said than done and I feel for her, but still. Puh. Leeze.

Is it the age? I mean, when I was 19 I did the same thing–it didn’t involve bruises, but I let a POS “boyfriend” stomp all over me because I had no idea how much better I could do. And oh, the trouble I’d have saved myself if I had figured it out a few years sooner. Lord, I can’t stand it when women (and some men, I’ll give you that) stay in garbage relationships because they don’t realize being alone would be an improvement. Or they’re afraid to be alone, or they don’t think they deserve anything better that what they’ve got.

Regardless, I’m pretty sure that cozying up in some seaside mansion, which is apparently how they are “working things out”, will not magically fix his–or her–problems.

Bleep, curse, groan. Standards, ladies. Get some.

There is no spring in my part of Texas. We go straight from winter to summer, and apparently it’s happening even earlier than usual this year, because it’s all of February 26 and it’s been 89 for three days. After some minor relief this weekend, we’re back into the 80s for all of next week and probably won’t see 70 again until Thanksgiving. Sigh. Is it still snowing anywhere?

It’s cute. It’s portable. It’s your phone. On March 25, you want it to ring.

First-timers, and/or those awaiting your first final, I feel you. Last fall, you sucked up your anxiety, paid the fee, and entered. It. The GH. The contest of all contests. Your baby went out to five judges you can only pray did not have bad hair days, screaming children, moral objections to four-letter words, or evil ex-boyfriends with your hero’s name when they read your entry. It would be nice if they recognized your manuscript from the many finalist lists it has graced to this point. It would be nice if they didn’t notice that your printer ink left a black splotch on page thirty-one.

But more than anything, you hope the judges liked your story. It isn’t just ink on that page, after all. It’s your heart and soul, your carefully chosen words, the months you spent writing and revising until the text accurately described the images in your mind. It’s fictional characters you’ve come to love so much, sometimes you forget they only exist in your head. You want them to final because their story is so fun, so thrilling, so romantic, and you want to give them the best possible chance at getting on a shelf and in front of readers.

So now you’re staring the one-month mark in the face. Four short weeks to Finalist Announcement Day. The anxiety is growing. You’re out there searching the Web for every bit of Golden Heart info you can feast your eyes on, and every now and then, your search brings you to my blog. I know this because I’m psychic. I also know that in your mind, you’ll be doing this –> every minute of every day until the official finalist list is posted.

The last month is torture. I went through it last year, and the year before, and two years before that. It’s all I thought about. I remember one night last year, a few days before the calls went out, sitting in my dark living room after everyone else was asleep, crying out of sheer terror that I wouldn’t make the cut. I’d finalled in ‘07 and had put way too much pressure on myself to do it again. In fact, I’d convinced myself that going to San Francisco as a finalist would upgrade my status from filthy, insignificant lint to queen of the universe. lol

It’s probably not worth crying about–I’m sure it isn’t–but it’s hard to stay calm when all your hopes and dreams rest on this one accomplishment. If you are reading this because you’re one of those people who, like I used to, stalks past finalists’ websites for insight and vicarious celebrating, I’ll tell you this: try not to pin your self-worth or your ability as a writer on this contest. If you final, it will rock. You may or may not get published. It will be an incredibly cool experience, but it won’t change you from an aspiring author to a gal who earns million-dollar advances overnight. I can say with 100% certainty that it will not make you queen of the universe. (Sigh.)

So relax. If you get the call, send me an email. I want to party with you. If you don’t, email me anyway and I’ll agree that you got a bad-hair-day judge. There will always be next year and you might have even sold by then. If you have questions about anything GH, you got it, write me. And I almost forgot, count on getting absolutely no sleep the night before…

Good luck!

to everyone who stopped by the contest blog yesterday! Wow, what a fabulous turnout, and such positive feedback on the excerpt. That’s the first time anyone has seen the book other than editors and contest judges. I’m glad readers enjoy it too. So excited for the thing to go on sale…only 3 more months…only 3 more months…!

Reminder: I’m semi-guest-blogging tomorrow (Monday) at Editor Tera’s blog for the Valentine’s Day contest. Read an excerpt from my debut novel (woo hoo!), post a comment, and be entered to win a) a fun-in-the-bath spa kit from moi, and b) the V-Day grand prize which includes Yankee Candles, Godiva chocolates, gift cards to Starbucks and Bath & Body Works, free books, and lots of other cool stuff. Support your friendly new author! I beg you!