Man, oh, man, what a trip! In both that literal and physical sense. We won’t even talk about how sore my posterior is. Really.

To recap:

1. I have the best agent in the whole wide world. Numerous other conference attendees kept saying things like, “Gosh, I want your agent! She’s awesome!” It actually started to freak me out after a while. Am I really worthy of this level of Kung-Fu Agent Awesomeness? (name that movie!)

1 a. Case in Point: So, Saturday, I’m in the middle of listening to Sherry Thomas expound on the finer points of generating sexual tension and chemistry on the printed page, and the fire alarm goes off. And you know what? We are all sheep. 150 people in the room, and we all sat there looking at each other going, “what should we do?” Right up until the security guard plowed into the room and began knocking chairs out of the way while looking seriously perturbed. Then we collectively decided that evacuation was the way to go.

Anyway, after the kick-butt fire truck showed up (remember, mother of a four year old boy here) with the kick-butt fire fighters on board (writer of romance here) we all went back inside. Never did figure out if the hotel was on fire or not, but as we were all milling around the lobby trying to figure out what to do next, (SHEEP! SHEEP, I TELL YOU!), I saw my agent and we got to chatting. (Tip: Takes less time to evacuate out of the basement than it does off the ninth floor.) And then a dazed and slightly confused woman stumbles past us. My agent calls out to her, the woman collapses on the seat next to the agent, and within two minutes, the woman–an editor from Sourcebooks–wanted to see my book. Watching my agent in action was a master class in selling and a clear indication of why I need an agent.

1 b. Which brings the number of potential editors wanting to review my stuff to four. As I said when my agent told me this, “So, it’s okay if I’m having a good heart attack right now?” To which she replied, “Yup. You can have a good heart attack.”

2. I do some of my best thinking in the car. It was a long, long drive to D.C. I got chapters written for the vegetarian book, and also got the general ideas for the next two books outlined.

3. PICTURES!

Somehow, I neglected to realize that, to get to D.C., we would have to cross the Appalachians. If you go to D.C., go the scenic highway 68. Just beautiful.

At the Museum of the American Indian, you can get real Native food. Like fry bread and a pulled buffalo sandwich. Beat the heck out of McDonald’s!!

Now, I’m actually at the Botanic Garden, but that’s the Museum of the American Indian there in the back. Cool building, huh? Has a very organic, kiva-esque vibe to it. (Yes, I expect you to know what a kiva is.)

This is my mother’s idea of a ‘good picture’ of me. We’re at the Chicago-North RWA Fire and Ice Awards reception. I’m wearing the dress my sisters–ahem, stylists–picked out for me. Anyone want to guess how far into the complimentary champagne I was at this point?

I got second! That’s Blythe Gifford, one of the sweetest women ever. She’s been such a friend and source of inspiration–and she was thrilled at my second place!

Mom got all gussied up, too. YAH for second place!

I don’t know about you, but it’s not a vacation if your mother doesn’t make you take a dippy picture, and this is the grand bull moose winner. We’re at the Schmidt Sausage Haus in Columbus, OH. I lived in Columbus for two years while earning my Master’s degree, but hadn’t been back in nine years. Kind of good to see the old town again.

Finally, we made it home, and while the kid was happy to see us, he was happier to see his presents, especially the panda mask Mom got for him at the National Zoo. Kung-Fu Panda in the house! (have you named that movie yet? COME ON! You can do it!)

So that’s mostly it. A great trip, but man, I’m glad to be back home with my guys. And secretly, I think they’re glad I’m back, too. Someone’s got to do the laundry!

ADDENDUM: The full shot of the fancy dress with shoes has been requested, so here you go!

It’s brought many a stronger mom than me to her knees.

Coming off a vacation is hard enough, but when a four-year-old kid has to return to structure and rules after six solid days of anything-goes fun-in-the-sun, it’s especially hard.

In this house, there are no brand-new firetrucks (with water squirting action!) just because it’s Tuesday. There’s no sleep ’til whenever and then watch a movie every morning. There is no buy a chocolate cake for dessert just because it looked yummy.

And my loving hubby, home from his business trip? Not exactly helping. He somehow snagged leftover Easter Bunny chocolate for pennies on the dollar as the souvenir of his trip. (To be fair, I got some too!) But I’m the one doling it out, one lousy piece at a time.

In other words, I am now the Wicked Witch of the East. I drag his little butt out of bed, make him go potty, and issue threats until all the cars are picked up. He’s gone a whole five days – five days! – without a new toy. If his loving Mimi hadn’t snagged him a Bigfoot Monster Truck the last day there, he’d hardly have any fun at all!

I don’t mean to make my mom sound like she let him have ice cream for breakfast or anything. She had a ready supply of carrots and ranch dressing on hand and wasn’t shy about handing them out. In fact, the one time I finally got the kid to talk to me on the phone, he whined about something, and Mom said, “Can you say that without whining?” before I could get the exact same words out. She was doing her best to keep the little rugrat in line. And all in all, it worked. We’ve managed to keep the screaming (on both sides of the toys) to a minimum around here.

It’ll be short-lived. I am frantically trying to fix books and get shoes broken in and business cards printed before Mom and I leave for the Romance Writers of America National Conference in just about two and a half weeks. My agent and I have been figuring out what’s good, what’s not, and how to pitch it.

And what will my menfolk be doing in my absence? My hubby will be working 15 hour days. This is his insane time of year. And since he has no car and can’t drive, that leaves the kid . . . with his other set of grandparents down on the family farm. Fields, tractors, and toys dating back to the ’60s. (My wonderful mother-in-law never threw anything away. NEVER!) A whole new round of spoiling, just as we were getting back into our normal routine.

Still, this is what summer was made for. He’s four now, and getting out and exploring the wide world with people who love you and keep you safe is a pretty big deal.

Especially if those people aren’t Mom and Dad.

The newest client of Laurie McLean, of Larsen Pomada Literary Agents, Sarah M. Anderson!

It’s official! Contracts have been signed, names and links have been added to websites and blogs, and editing of multiple manuscripts will commence in three – two – one – GO!

I’m deeply excited about working with Laurie. She’s having an amazing year as an agent – and did I mention how excited she was about my work? She’s already added me to her list of clients on her own blog, Agent Savant. It’s alphabetical, so I’m second from the top. Who knew marrying a guy who’s name began with A would come in so handy?

I’m looking forward to meeting Laurie, too. That’ll happen at the RWA National Convention, being held in Washington, D.C. in mid-July. Hopefully, by that time, we’ve gotten at least two books edited and ready to shop around to publishers. I’m aiming for all three, but I’m sort of brand-spanking new to this side of the business, so we’ll all find out together.

And you know who’s going with me to Nationals? Dedicated readers have already guessed – my mother. She’s a little hyped about touring D.C. while I do author things. I know we’re going to hit the (relatively) new National Museum of the American Indian together (of course). I think she’s going to do everything else on her own, frankly. That woman around historical monuments? Unstoppable.

Anyway, back to Laurie. She also organizes the San Francisco Writers Conference, which will be in February of 2010. I mentioned this to my hubby, and I think he’s already set up the hotel, car, and activities for him and the kid to do whilst I schmooze. Something about riding a ‘duck,’ perhaps? Anything to break up February in Illinois, apparently. So those two are on board, as well.

Did I mention how crazy this week has been? I got So Excited about the whole signed-by-Laurie thing that I upset my tummy and couldn’t eat a thing – for a week. On the plus side, I lost like seven pounds . . . but still, I’m glad things have settled down a bit. Warrior, Lawyer was in the top three for the Chicago-North RWA Fire and Ice contest (apparently, the world’s worst title didn’t deter them one bit). I get to go to a reception and awards ceremony for that in D.C., too. Have to find out if I can bring Mom to that one still.

And last Friday, I dumped 22 chapters of what is now being called No Man’s Land, aka the bull riding book, on Mom and the Lovely Mary, Grammar Goddess. Usually takes Mary about 2-3 weeks to remove all the ‘s’ I stuck on ‘towards’ and add back in all the ‘the’ and ‘of’ I glossed right over – but not this time. She read 437 pages in less than three days – and then had the nerve to demand I finish it RIGHT NOW so she could know how it ended! (To which I said, Um, about that – how do you WANT it to end? And this is one of the many, many reasons why Mary is so Lovely – after talking to her for 20 minutes or so, I have a much better idea of how everyone is going to ride off into the sunset.)

Tuesday was also insane. Less than a week after I got The Call, Craig, my web czar, completely redid my website. Part of that is so I don’t bug the heck out of him when I want to tweak things – I can log in myself and change the font if I’m feeling like it. But the main reason is because now I’m writing New Westerns, and I needed to shift the focus to cowboys and Indians. That was my entire Tuesday. Took 30+ emails to Craig, all day of wrangling uncooperative computer programs, and a half hour call to some poor sap in Bangladesh before I got everything to the point where I could do it myself. (I sound just like my kid!) So go check out www.sarahmanderson.com and tell me what you think. It’s not ‘done,’ but it’s not half bad, either.

So, as you can see, things have been Crazy in some of the best ways possible in the last week and a half. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a book to finish!

It is a PATIO! Oh, and something about Juliet being the sun. But what’s really important RIGHT NOW is the PATIO!!

Before:

During:

and now, finally, almost an After:

It’s not done. You know why? Because we were supposed to finish this Project that Wouldn’t Die this weekend – and then I woke up at 4:30 Saturday morning with a raging sinus infection.

Yes, if there’s anything better than backbreaking physical labor on Mother’s Day weekend, it’s trying to do backbreaking physical labor on Mother’s Day weekend when your head is trying to explode.

So, the hubby took off Tuesday – the day I’m supposed to stay home and write my darned cowboy books. Had to get it done – major storms were forecast to roll through (and boy, did they!) And then he woke up with a fever at 2 in the morning.

You know what happened next. We tanked up on behind-the-counter drugs (the good stuff – the stuff you have to prove you’re not a criminal to ingest) and caffeine and Gatorade and did it anyway.

We ate dinner out on our patio that night. The whole time, he and I were going “ugh,” or “man,” because we were that damned tired.

That stuff on top of the pavers is sand and about a zillion maple seeds (in this house, aka Whirlygigs). Gets swept into the cracks.

We still have to fit in the edge pieces and then cut in the curve. We still have to backfill the hell out of the little moat area that currently surrounds the edge of the patio. We still have to fix the step I was working on before I got sick – the math wasn’t quite right (not that I’m pointing any fingers!) and we were half an inch off. Gotta fix that. And we’re getting to the point where I can start to seriously think about landscaping and plants and – you guessed it – sod. None of which is going to happen until the pinched nerves in my wrists stop firing and the bruises heal and the snot drains out of my head. (Lose your grip on a 40 pound paver because your wrists feel like a wasp is stinging you, and it don’t matter how much padding you’ve got on your thighs. You will bruise.)

But it is now a usable space. A patio. And, as my kid would say, “We did it ourselves!”

The Project That Wouldn’t Die is still not dead. But it’s on its last legs!

First, it’s been exactly two weeks since I mailed my Noseless Cowboy manuscript off – media mail, no less. The agent said she had three manuscripts ahead of mine. Is it too early to start fretting? Because I already am.

Second, Easter went well. We got there by 3 in the afternoon, helped my father-in-law throw sticks onto a rack wagon, and then rode said rack wagon while he pulled it with a big, old tractor down to the burn pile. My kid spent most of the rest of his time there digging in the dirt and rock with the same diggers his daddy had dug with, because my in-laws never threw away ANYTHING. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. My husband went up into the attic in their shed and pulled out Clyde’s Car Crusher and Superheros and Mutant Monsters (which is the guy version of Fashion Plates that I had – you know, where you mix up the different plates with different outfits and then do a crayon rubbing over the top?) from 1978 – still rubberbanded in the box, still with most all the parts. In my house, those things would have been recycled at a thrift store or just tossed a long, long time ago.

(And if your wondering – because I know I was before I saw it – Clyde’s Car Crusher is where you make molds of small cars and vans out of aluminium foil, then drop them into a chute, wind it up until your vehicle has (theoretically) been crushed into a 1-inch cube, and then put your cube on the back of a truck. Boy heaven, that’s what it is.)

Church also went well – considering the furnace wasn’t exactly working. My kid didn’t want to go up for the Children’s Sermon until I pointed out that the pastor had a basket, and there might be something good in that basket. Then he was off, and was rewarded with jelly beans. Sure, he ate the Body of Christ before it had been officially blessed, but only half. Not too bad, really.

Third, let me tell you how sore I am. We’ve been digging. Here, look at this dirt.

All of that dirt came from this walkway:

And that walkway? We dug that out by hand, just the three of us. Well, two of us. The kid tried to help, he really did. He even has his own shovel, a little spade I bought for digging in the garden while I’m on my knees. Just right for him. But after about four or five shovels full of dirt, he’s done, and playing in the dirt. Like this:

You can see the undug walkway behind him there. That was the beginning of the trench my husband started – apparently, just the right size for an almost-four-year-old kid to recline in and enjoy the afternoon sun.

This is what our backyard started out as:

The hose is the outline of a future patio. There used to be a deck there – but it was rotting and the paint was peeling, so we tore it out.

We did that (also by hand) coming up on three summers ago. The area formerly known as a deck has been a mud-and-weed pit for two full summers. But now, we’ve got our supplies delivered:

(No, you’re not imagining things – that is a hearse back there. Our neighbor has a thing for the Adams Family, so we have a hearse next door. We had a mud pit for two years, so I guess a hearse isn’t too bad, right? Besides, when I get my plants and shrubs back where all that rock is piled high, I won’t be able to see it as much. I hope.)

We’ve got a bobcat being delivered tomorrow, because while I may be insane enough to dig out a straight(ish) and narrow walkway, I’m not nutty enough to do semi-circles that have old concrete on the edges.

But it will all be worth it, because we WILL have a patio. It WILL be lovely to sit out at our table and eat dinners al fresco. The new plantings WILL be stunning this time next year when everything blooms again. And with the money we’re saving by doing this ourselves, I WILL have a lovely new office in which to write and write and write, complete with coordinating office furniture!

This WILL all work out!

Now, as you may (or, more probably, may not) recall, Thanksgiving is my family’s holiday. Turkey, pie, football – almost a religious experience in the hands of my father.

You know what that means, right? That’s right. My in-laws get Easter. An actual religious experience.

This year, Easter is going to be particularly nutty. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Normally, we’d do a little resting and relaxing, and head down to my in-laws house for some quality grandparent spoiling. But, just like everything else in my life (Ticker: Fine. Bull Riding Book: Half done), “normal” is relative. In addition to being Good Friday, tomorrow is also my hubby’s birthday.

But wait! There’s more! Next week is some big, fancy-pants board meeting at my hubby’s company, and they want numbers – lots of numbers – to talk about. So, tomorrow – on his birthday – on Good Friday – he’s going to work. No in-law love, no rest, no relaxation. Just another day at the office. As Saturday will be as well.

I’m doing my part to make him feel better about his drudgery. I’m going to take my kid down to my Gram’s for lunch. I love my Gram. Lots. And she’s still a force to reckon with at 94. But sometimes, that reckoning can take a lot out of a guy. So he’s going to go to work, confident that it could be worse, and I’m going to Gram’s.

I’m hoping – HOPING – to make it to my in-laws’ at some point before bedtime on Saturday. It’s Easter, dang it. If my mother-in-law doesn’t get the chance to send my kid into fits of giggles by savagely devouring Peeps, I’m not sure the world will continue spinning on its axis. (You should see her. She’s an animal!)(In the best way possible!)

Another change we’ll be making this year involves church. Now, I know that for most people, Easter is a church-given. Non-negotiable.

I am not ‘church’ people. Never have been, probably never will be. I search for the wonder of a Higher Power in the beauty of a blooming magnolia, the joy in my kid’s giggling, and the hope in the letters we get from the young Filipino girl we sponsor. I don’t do church. I do faith and spirituality, but not church.

Luckily, my in-laws like me anyway.

The last time we dropped our kid off with them for a Mom-and-Dad break, they took him to church, which is totally fine. And you know what? He liked it! Who knew a three year old would enjoy services? Every time we drove past a church here at home, we heard about going to church with Grandma and Grandpa.

So, this year, I decided we’d go with my in-laws to Easter service. Why not, right? It’s only one of the most important Christian holidays around. And it’s good that he knows there’s more to the holiday than Peeps.

So we’ll get there late, go to church, eat steak (no, I don’t know why. That’s just what the in-laws are fixing, and I’m gonna eat them!), and come home.

It’s going to be an especially crazy version of the holiday this year. But that’s okay. As long as we get to do it, it will all work out.

Happy Easter!

First, an update: Thanks so much for everyone who called or emailed to make sure I wasn’t dead. I’m still not dead. In fact, the doctors seem to agree that there’s nothing wrong with me – as long as it doesn’t happen again.

It was great. I went to see my ‘regular’ doctor – who is a man I’d never met before. My ‘regular’ regular doctor had moved on to her own practice in a small town too far away about nine months ago, and the office assigned me this guy. But since then, I haven’t gotten sick in the cold-and-flu kind of way. I’ve been seeing specialists (because, you know, I’m special). But the ER wanted me to see my ‘regular’ doctor. So I went and met the man. He looked over all my labs and test results, listened to my heart a whole bunch, and said, “Well . . .” Right. Not a damn thing wrong with me.

Do you do what I do? I mean, I’m really, SUPER glad there’s not a damn thing wrong with me. I don’t WANT to have major problems that require hospitalization, surgery, or a major adjustment to my everyday life. And my ‘regular’ doctor assured me i wasn’t going to die anytime soon.

But still. I blew precious bull riding research time and a lot my disposable income on an afternoon in the ER, all for nothing. I feel like Chicken Little, but the sky never fell. It’s still better this way, but I feel like an idiot. An idiot whose ticker is fine, but an idiot none the less.

Okay. So, I’m an idiot. But this is nothing new, and we’re focusing on the power of positive thinking in this house. Seriously. My daily mantra is:

1. I look good.
2. I feel good.
3. I’m having a good day.
4. I am a New York Times best-selling author.

Seriously. It’s on a piece of paper tacked up next to my view of the magnolia. I look at it a lot.

And you know what? I think it’s working. My crazy body has been (relatively) calm since that little ER episode. I’m feeling good in my own skin. My week has been much, much better than the last one (dog barfing on my bedspread at 5:20 in the morning notwithstanding). The daffodils and the magnolia tree survived the snowstorm we had last week. The kid is getting better at controlling his bike. The hubby made cookies, brownies, and homemade lasagna (including homemade noodles!).

And.

An agent requested the full manuscript of the Noseless Cowboy book, aka A Part of Her , yesterday. In her email, she said, “I liked those first few pages very much. Good solid writing. Wonderful voice for the heroine.” That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said yet to date. Anyone I’m not related to, that is. Plus, I was doing a little research on this agent, and she’d said in a blog interview last year that she was looking for “new” westerns.

This could all work! This will all work! I have faith!