Madeline Dyer is pretty amazing. She signed her first book contract when she was 19. She trains Shetland ponies. She’s a college student. And she does all this while managing a disorder called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome type 3. Madeline also is indirectly responsible for me getting a book contract with Prizm: on a private Facebook group for women writers, she shared news of her book debut. I thought, Hmm, that manuscript sounds similar to mine… Maybe I should submit to Prizm, too. I did, and the rest is history. Madeline’s novel, UNTAMED, came out the month before DESTROYING ANGEL, so we have been navigating the ups and downs of a book launch together—her support has been invaluable.

UNTAMED is spotlighted this week as part of #quietYA, a roundup of 21 under-the-radar YA novels. Keep your eye on that Twitter hashtag today to learn about other underrated YA authors and nab giveaways. In this interview, Madeline talks all about writing.

UNTAMED is your debut novel, but it is not the first book you’ve written. How many full-length manuscripts did you write before penning UNTAMED?

Before writing UNTAMED, I’d completed two other full-length novel manuscripts, as well as a 40,000 word novella. I’m sure that all three of these manuscripts trained me up to write UNTAMED, even though they’re all very different genres to my debut, which is a YA dystopian novel. Writing these manuscripts really helped me find my narrative voice and I had so much fun with them! I’ve recently been rewriting and editing one the second of the full-length manuscripts (a YA mythology-based fantasy), and I hope to get it ready for submission soon.

You’re also a horse trainer and university student. What does a typical day look like for you?

Yes! That makes me sound so busy! I live on a farm where we have Shetland ponies. My stallion, Victor, recently passed his VVE SPSBS stallion inspection and is now a licensed stallion; he was the first foal I ever bought and trained on my own, teaching him how to walk and trot on a lead-rope, be happy having his feet picked up—that sort of thing. My parents showed me how to train foals, as they’ve been breeding Shetlands for nearly 30 years, and they’re always on-hand. I also trained our youngest mare, Bluebell, when she was a foal too. We do breed from our ponies, but we’re now quite a small stud, generally aiming for a foal a year. Our ponies are definitely more like pets to us than breeding stock—and we only breed foals so long as we’re able to look after them, physically and financially, as there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to find a suitable new owner for a young pony. Plus, I always want to keep the foals! But the majority of the work I do with our ponies isn’t the training. It’s the day-to-day care: feeding, grooming, mucking out stables, health checks. Our ponies really do feel like family.

And, yes, I also attend Exeter University, and have just finished the second year of an English degree. So my days do get quite busy, especially when I try to fit in writing too—but I don’t attend uni everyday, as I’m on a reduced timetable for health reasons.

So, yeah, a typical day tends to start with looking after the ponies (and our other animals), and then heading to uni for a seminar, before returning to do more with our ponies. And then there’s the writing too that I try to fit in—but often don’t manage on the days when I do attend uni. I don’t really have a definite daily routine (other than seeing to the ponies every morning and evening), as I’m often required to be at uni at different times—and I have hospital appointments to schedule in too.

You are a very prodigious writer. How do you feel when you’re writing? Do you look forward to it?

Thank you! I definitely look forward to writing—even on the days when I don’t actually feel like it… it’s the feeling afterwards, once I’ve written for the day, and have added so many thousand words to my current manuscript that I particularly love.

I’m curious about your novel writing process. I read that you wrote UNTAMED in 28 days and edited it in eight weeks. How long did you work each day? Do you give your manuscripts to critique partners for feedback?

Yes, I find it easier to write the first drafts as quickly as possible, usually spending between an hour and five hours on a manuscript each day. I’ve had times where I’ve written 12,000 words in a day! Editing always takes longer, as does rewriting, as that’s the time when I really think about the overall manuscript and its arcs, evaluating it in a more analytical way. First drafts are a lot freer and rather messy!

So, yes, I wrote UNTAMED in just under a month in June 2013, and then spent September 2013 and January 2014 doing substantial edits and rewrites—the months in between June and September were spent drafting the rest of the Untamed Series. I have a group of lovely beta-readers and some awesome critique partners who really helped me develop UNTAMED.

I find it amazing that you signed a contract when you were 19. You got four offers for UNTAMED. What made you choose Prizm Books?

Thank you! As soon as I got the offer from Prizm Books, I was so excited and I was pretty sure that I wanted to go with them. Not only was their contract good, but they were also the company that had been established the longest out of the four who had made me offers. I was also very pleased with the distribution network that Prizm has.

What do you hope to accomplish with your career as a writer? Where do you want to be when you’re 30?

Well, I’d love to be a full-time writer so I can spend as much time in these made-up worlds as possible! I’d love to have several novels (and, hopefully, series!) under my belt by the time I’m 30.

What writers do you most admire, and why?

There are so many! The ladies in my critique group are pretty awesome, and I admire how disciplined they are with their writing. But I also really admire writers such as Richelle Mead and Rick Yancey, because I know each book that they release will be fantastic.

You have mentioned that you have a chronic illness. How does that affect your writing, if at all?

I’m diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome type 3 (a genetic connective tissue disorder) and went on to develop Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (a disorder of the autonomic system which) when I was 17. The first one doesn’t really affect my writing a great deal, unless I dislocate something, or if I’ve been sitting awkwardly, as my ribs do have a tendency to slip around a bit! But it’s the second chronic condition that affects my writing more; POTS means I can’t stand stationary for long without fainting, and I’m also affected if I sit really upright. Because of this I find it really difficult to sit at a table, so can’t really work at a desk, as I get the tachycardia response where my heart rate often doubles and my blood pools, limiting the amount of oxygen I get to my brain. Therefore, I do most of my writing on the sofa, where I can curl up or raise my feet to stop the blood pooling, and think more clearly. But POTS also causes excessive fatigue too and visual disturbances, which can make it tricky to write at times, or feel motivated to write.

But, I’m sure that being a writer has really helped me cope with having these two conditions. Even though there are a lot of things I physically can’t do (especially on bad days), I still have my imagination—and it’s my writing that defines me, not my illnesses.

What is your advice for aspiring writers?

To write every day, preferably getting into a regular routine. And write what you want to write, not what you think you should be writing, or what someone else wants to read. Writing’s such a personal thing, so I think you have to be really into what you’re writing—readers can tell if you aren’t.

What has been the most surprising challenge when it comes to launching a book?

Definitely the promotion and marketing side. Before I got a book deal, I really was in the dark about how to promote an upcoming book. But it was kind of fun learning! I’ve written lots of guest posts and blog posts which have really helped get my name out there. Promotion can be challenging, but it’s so rewarding to see the results.

Anything else you would like readers to know?

In writing UNTAMED, I wanted to create a protagonist who felt real and had flaws, but could still be considered strong. So many times, I’ve read YA novels where the main characters were always so athletic, excellent at fighting, and so confident and able to stand up for themselves no matter what, but I couldn’t always relate to them. I wanted to write a character who felt more human, someone who had flaws. Yet, I also wanted my main character to be able to be considered strong at times—to show that ‘ordinary’ teenagers can be strong too, even if they have periods of self-doubt, and feel intimidated by certain people. Because of this, I’ve been particularly pleased at the feedback I’ve had from readers about UNTAMED; many have picked up on how real Seven felt, liking how she had obvious flaws, yet still these readers saw an inner-strength to her, and admired her for it. This was really important to me.

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Madeline Dyer is the author of Untamed, a YA dystopian fantasy novel from Prizm Books (May 2015). She is currently working on book two in the Untamed Series, as well as a new dystopian trilogy for adults. Keep up with her on Twitter, Facebook or her website.

 

At literary conferences, there’s a lot of debate about the role blogging plays for authors. The pro-blogging camp says it’s a great marketing tool. The naysayers insist that blogging eats into time authors could better use writing their next books. And that a new book is a more powerful marketing tool than a blog entry.

I decided to try blogging and find out for myself. I started blogging in earnest last December—that’s when I got serious and switched to self-hosting, installed Google Analytics and some plugins, learned very basic code, got a custom theme, joined blogger meet-up groups and most importantly, committed to a regular posting schedule. (I aim for once a week.) After six months, I have come to the conclusion that EVERY WRITER SHOULD BE BLOGGING. Here’s why.

1. Blogging is writing.

OK, blogging isn’t the same as writing fiction, long-form journalism, poetry, personal essays, or whatever your mode of literary production may be. But it is still WRITING. And if there’s one thing a writer can never do too much of, it’s writing. Regarding the “but it cuts into your time for writing your next book” argument? A lot of things cut into my book writing time, including Facebook, kittens and wine. This blog isn’t one of them. Strangely, the mental muscles I use for writing this blog are not the same ones I use for writing novels.

2. Blogging is publishing.

Every time I make a blog post go live, I click a little button here in my WordPress back end that says “Publish.” Clicking “publish” again and again—even when I feel like my words are trivial and stupid and won’t be read by anyone except a few really good friends and my grandmother—is an exercise in courage. Which is something all writers need.

3. Blogging connects you to readers.

Thanks to Google Analytics, I know 1,626 of you read this blog last month. I know you’re mostly women ages 25 to 34 from the U.S. and Russia. I know you’re into movies and real estate. But more importantly, I get to talk with you in the comments. In the previous decade, Piscataway homes has increased in property and house values – as an example. How lucky are we, as readers and writers, to be able to engage with each other this way?

4. Blog entries can turn into freelance work for bigger outlets.

Many of my blog entries have fledged into full-blown publications in outlets with large followings. For example, earlier this month I was tinkering with a post about novel revision. Lo and behold, I heard from an editor at The Write Life asking me to submit. I had registered on the website’s database as a potential contributor months ago. Because I had a draft of a post about writing in my queue, I was able to whip it into shape and submit it to the editor the same day. She accepted it, and now I have a new byline to show off. Blogs are a great incubator for longer pieces.

5. Clients expect you to be familiar with WordPress.

I recently published a story on Country Living via  The Mix, a contributor network for Hearst Media. They’re the company that brings you publications like Cosmopolitan, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle and more. To submit a story, guess what you do? If you guessed open up the company’s Wordpress page, you’re right. Good thing I’m already familiar with Wordpress. More and more digital media companies are expecting freelancers to have this knowledge.

6. Blogging is fun.

Bloggers are bold entrepreneurs down to have brunch, cross-promote and share secrets of their success. I’m glad I started blogging, if only because I’ve met so many awesome bloggers.

7. Blogging is a way to advertise your freelance business.

If you’re a freelance writer, there’s no better way to get your name out there than with a blog. It’s kind of impossible to operate without one. If you’re a novelist, your frequently refreshed blog gets you higher placement on Google, making it possible for readers to find out about you and buy your books. If people know and like you, they’ll be curious about what you create. At least that’s the belief I operate from.

8. Blogging can earn you money (advertising, referral links, sponsored posts, freelance business).

Blog monetization is too big of a topic to delve into here, and a million bloggers have covered it ad nauseam, so let me just say that if you aren’t monetizing a blog, you’re potentially missing out on easy money.

That’s all I can think of now. Are you a writer who also blogs? Why would you suggest blogging…or not?

In 2009, New Orleans’ Bywater neighborhood had begun gentrifying in earnest. Crumbling brick warehouses were being renovated and converted into loft apartments right and left. I rented a studio apartment in a former factory, which had the added benefit of low rent. It was the first time I’d had such luxuries as central AC and a dishwasher. Best of all, my apartment had a bank of windows facing the street and gated parking lot. When the late evening light slanted across my polished concrete floor, I felt like every trope of urban adulthood had come true for me.

After a few years, I met Bryan on OkCupid and he moved in. This was technically not allowed since he wasn’t on the lease, but we were in love and couldn’t be bothered to care. At a dinner party, our neighbor told us he’d seen the building’s owner peeping in our window. Not just a passerby’s casual glance. The owner was quite stationary, leaning in and squinting through the blinds that never closed completely.

Last weekend, I went to my friend Jenn Marie Nunes’ book release party. Feminist press Switchback Books had awarded her poetry manuscript, And/Or, its inaugural Queer Voices prize. Jenn read her funny, weird, enigmatic poems at the event, which was hosted by a community print shop. Plates of cheese and cookies and a cash bar were wedged between printing presses with greasy black teeth. A lot of awesome people I hadn’t seen in a long time were there, as well as some whose names I’d heard before but whose acquaintances I’d never made.

One was an English professor. A friend introduced me to her as editor of a monthly fashion section.

“Oh, I read that from time to time,” she said. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”

She smiled brightly. I didn’t detect any malice in her words. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

I’m truly flattered when anyone reads my writing. But I wondered — would she describe Jenn’s book of poetry as a guilty pleasure? I kind of doubt it. Hovering over a platter of deviled eggs, I thought, What makes Jenn’s literary mode of production valid and mine not? I’m defining valid here as acceptable public reading material for an academic. I’ve been holding the professor’s words up to the light, examining them, and though there are plenty of things to unpack from her statement, I’m not sure compliment is among them.

To back up a little: I work at an alt-weekly covering primarily fashion, beauty and interior decor — in other words, women’s sections. My beat falls under what the OpEd Project defines as “pink topics.”

‘Pink’ topics are the topical spheres that compose what some media critics refer to as the ‘pink ghetto’ because women have historically been confined within them. We’ve defined a Pink Topic as: 1.) anything that falls into what was once known as “the four F’s”: food, family, furniture, and fashion, 2.) women-focused subject matter, e.g. woman-specific health or culture, 3.) gender / women’s issues, or 4.) a profile of a woman or her work in which her gender is a significant issue of the piece.

The OpEd Project goes on to clarify, “We don’t consider ‘pink’ topics any less important than general topics.” And as much as I want to agree with that statement, deep down inside, I’m not sure I do. I don’t cover political scandals or civil wars in distant countries. I sometimes describe my work to others, self-deprecatingly, as “fluff.” I feel, you could say, “guilty,” for working in the pink ghetto, devoting so much time to tracking bridal gown trends and sunless tanning methods. It’s similar to the breed of guilt that makes me want to hide my astrology and self-help books behind the literary theory books I haven’t cracked open since my graduate proseminar.

When I dropped out of LSU’s comparative literature program in 2008, I did so because I wanted my words to be read by as many people as possible. (Typical writers’ hubris.) I didn’t see that happening in academia. I saw myself spending years to write a dissertation that would probably only be read by my committee and a few really good friends. Then I’d pen scholarly articles that would be locked behind JSTOR’s paywall. So I changed course. Now I write about fashion, and I write dark fantasy novels for teenage girls. And I guess both of those things could be considered guilty pleasures. Why? Because they are commercial endeavors aimed at mass audiences? Because they are feminine pleasures? Men don’t consider sports or hunting guilty pleasures. These traditionally masculine pursuits are simply pleasures. 

I can’t help but think these “guilty pleasures” are linked toward shame of being a woman, or shame of belonging to a social class with less emphasis on/access to higher education. And neither of those are bad things. Everyone at that book launch would most likely denounce the sexist and classist rhetoric that says otherwise.

So I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a surprise to confront shame’s greasy specter adrift in a room of women writers celebrating a feminist poetry collection. Almost as much as a surprise as it was to find I harbor it myself.

 

 P.S. Jenn’s book is beautiful and you should buy it.

Nobody wants to blow a deadline. But sometimes it happens. And whether it’s your fault (you completely forgot) or someone else’s (a key source wouldn’t return your calls), there’s a right and a wrong way to handle it. After five years as a special sections editor at Gambit Weekly, I’ve had plenty of freelancers blow deadlines … and blown a few myself. Here are some dos and don’ts when it comes to mitigating the damage.

DO tell your editor ASAP if you’re running into problems. The more notice you give editors, the more help they can give you. Your editor might be able to extend your deadline or tweak your assignment. Just remember, your editor is on your side and wants you to succeed, if for no other reason than if you don’t, she’s stuck doing your work for you at the eleventh hour. WHICH REALLY SUCKS.

Don’t go into needless detail. If you’re having a personal crisis, keep the details to yourself. It’s appropriate to say something like, “I’ve had a death in the family and must travel to attend the funeral,” but editors do not need to hear more than that. Same thing regarding technical difficulties. That’s your problem, not your editor’s, so don’t burden him with it. Frankly, if a freelancer uses technical difficulties as an excuse with me, I immediately write him off as someone who doesn’t know how to use Google drive or library computers.

Apologize for your mistake. In the print world especially, deadlines are very real and not at all flexible. Assume that by missing yours, you have upset the delicate balance that prevents chaos from raining down on the head of your frail, overworked editor, and apologize accordingly. No buts or pity-seeking. Simplicity is best. “I messed up, and I apologize.” Follow up by asking, “How can I make this better?” Which brings us to the next tip.

Offer solutions. If you couldn’t get an interview with the source your editor requested, have a back-up source ready to go. If you forgot an assignment, offer to forego food and sleep until it’s done. Show your willingness to repair your mistake, and you might repair the relationship. I messed up an assignment earlier this year…I was careless, misread it and wrote up one interview when the feature was supposed to include three. You can bet this inconvenienced my editor. I ended up scrambling to redo the feature at the last minute, which sucked, but sometimes you have no choice.

After the dust settles, lay low for a while. You just burned your editor pretty bad. Now is not the time to ask if you’re blackballed or request future assignments. It’s possible your editor might want to cut ties. But if you have a productive working relationship with this person and a history of turning in good work on time, your editor may see fit to work with you again. Just let him do it on his terms. If you do get another assignment, turn it in early, with much gratitude. Your editor just gave you a second chance, and that’s no small thing.

As you may recall, Bryan and I embarked on the Feral Cat Socialization experiment in early February. We fed an outdoor feral cat, Young Graymund, for several months, then trapped her in our home in an attempt to Stockholm syndrome her into loving us. She was never allowed outside. She staked out a den under the couch, emerging mostly to eat, crap and hiss.

Gray still hates all humans. So the original experiment, to tame a feral feline, was an abject failure. HOWEVER. Unbeknownst to us, we’d trapped a knocked-up cat. On March 27, Gray gave birth. We are now the proud owners of one queen and two catlings. (That’s cat-person talk for one un-neutered female [we will neuter her as soon as she’s done nursing] and two kittens. Also, a male cat is a tom [duh], a neutered male is a gib, and a neutered female cat is a molly. Together, they are a clowder of cats. FASCINATING, no?)

I am pleased to announce TOTAL SUCCESS with the Feral Cat Socialization experiment. Here’s why:

1. We started the experiment with the goal of owning a loving cat. Now we will have TWO loving cats and one hateful cat who’s still a darned good mom.

2. Because Gray was trapped inside during the bulk of her pregnancy, she had food and shelter during a time when she and her in utero catlings direly needed both. I am sure the whole cat family is way healthier now than they’d have been if they were living on the streets. Their life expectancies also are longer than those of feral cats.

3. Three cats with healthy reproductive systems will now be vaccinated and neutered, ending a cycle of cat pregnancy and reducing our neighborhood’s feral cat population.

4. BABY CATS ARE FUCKING ADORABLE.

5. Gray takes care of all the parenting: she feeds the babies, teaches them to eat, groom themselves, crap in a litter box… this turnkey-cat operation is super simple AS WELL AS FUCKING ADORABLE.

We started daily handling of the catlings when they were three weeks old, because everything I read suggested it’s not beneficial to separate kittens from their mothers sooner than that, and ages 4 to 7 weeks are peak socialization times. Gray hissed something fierce when we first started handling her kittens, but that was all she did. I scoop them up with an oven mitt if she’s within swiping distance. Unlike their mother, the kittens show no fear of humans and are quite content to be held and petted. It’s interesting to watch these first-generation indoor cats develop. I’d worried they may learn to distrust us from watching Gray, but that hasn’t been the case.

Isn’t this clowder so cute? Don’t you just love them?

In 2005, I submitted this essay to SCAT, a magazine published by Light of New Orleans. Editor and publisher Joshua Clark accepted it, but Katrina happened and the magazine folded. For the last 10 years, this essay has been rattling around in an old email account. Enjoy!

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Wearing an orange reflector vest over his uniform, Winston Cavendish stands with his feet planted widely apart, patrolling a Bank One parking lot as a Mardi Gras parade rolls down Veterans Memorial Boulevard. His posture is as crisp and upright as the starched collar of his oxford shirt. A silver-and-blue patch on his left arm reads “US Security Associates.”

“Yep,” he says, leaning against a sign that says Commercial Lane Only. “I guess I’m the only person to get his ears scratched by the President.” 

Cavendish isn’t technically talking about his own ears, but the floppy, brown ones belonging to McGruff the Crime Dog. In a national ad campaign in the 1980s, McGruff urged young Americans to “take a bite out of crime.” McGruff’s signature gravelly voice belongs to Cavendish. One of the first McGruffs, Cavendish logged more than 162,000 air miles promoting the dog and its message of civic responsibility.

Cavendish’s gentle smile suggests 40 years spent helping old ladies cross the street. He possesses the sort of radiant contentment characteristic of monks and very small children. But during his years of crime prevention, Cavendish has been shot, stabbed, run over by a Bronco, and pushed down a flight of stairs. Work-related injuries have sent him to the hospital 18 times.

Cavendish was born in the parking lot of a New Iberia funeral home in 1943. His mother was a French and English schoolteacher from Lafayette, his father a major in the British Indian Army and intelligence officer during World War II. “He hunted Nazis,” Cavendish says reverently.

When Cavendish was five years old, he and his family left Louisiana to live out of a 1948 Ford named Jenny. Their travels spanned the 49 contiguous U.S. states. Cavendish shunned formal education, working as a rancher at the Gunster Cattle Company in Canada, a game guide (he killed a cougar with a hunting knife and a bear with a bow and arrow) and a taxidermist in New Orleans. He embalmed 120 buffalo heads for the Mounted Police Headquarters. When asked how long this task took, he responds, “Oh, not long at all. About four years.”

Inspired by his father’s ideals, Cavendish enrolled in night classes, studying criminal justice. Crime prevention became his passion.

“I love stopping crime before it happens,” Cavendish says.

At age 35, Cavendish became a Mandeville police officer. Within four months, he was promoted to assistant chief of police. His newspaper column, C.O.P. (an acronym for “Constable on Patrol”) was syndicated in the The News Banner, Slidell Sentry News and The Bogalusa Star. It ran for eight years and led to a radio show on WSDL Radio called “Behind the Star.”

Cavendish took correspondence courses from Columbia Broadcasting to develop his diaphragmatic breathing — a technique that served him well when he became the voice of the crime dog.

During this time, Cavendish attended a crime prevention practitioner’s conference in Louisville, Kentucky, where he and other attendees came up with the idea of a crime dog in a group brainstorming session. The National Crime Prevention Council loved the concept. Armed with an old London Fog trench coat, pants from Goodwill, a cloth dog head and a well-cultivated voice, Cavendish became McGruff.

His hardest task was convincing officers in other precincts to give the lovable dog a home. Many police departments were less than receptive.

“’You gonna make me wear a dog costume?’” Cavendish says, curling his lower lip in imitation of the resistant police machismo he often encountered.“’That’s bullshit.’”

In spite of this adversity, Cavendish says he was “blessed with McGruff.”

“I received wonderful letters from children thanking McGruff for protecting their lives,” he says. “Wonderful stories.”

McGruff garnered appreciation from more prestigious sources, too. The Postmaster General invited Cavendish to do commercials. He attended a gala at the Smithsonian, where McGruff’s 20-cent stamp was unveiled, placing McGruff alongside such luminaries as Smoky the Bear. Cavendish also received his fair share of accolades. He was made Policeman of the USA and decorated in FBI headquarters. He also was Policeman of Louisiana and Deputy of Louisiana that same year. He received the President’s Award from the International Society of Crime Prevention. He received the keys to New York and Los Angeles. He became honorary mayor of Selma, Alabama.

“Meeting President [Ronald] Reagan was a pretty big thing for me. I was dressed as McGruff… I said, ‘Good grief! It’s not every day a dog meets the President,'” Cavendish recounts. “And Reagan said, ‘You’d be surprised how many dogs there are on Capitol Hill.’”

In 1988, Cavendish resigned as a policeman after a dirty election for sheriff. Since then, he has worked as a security guard. Cavendish and McGruff have taken separate paths—McGruff spends most of his time in a four-story office on Madison Avenue in New York. Meanwhile, Winston devotes his energy to a memoir titled In Security. which chronicles his decades in crime prevention.

“I’m writing this book as closure or finality to a career. Maybe to vindicate my existence. Maybe to be an example to others. Maybe that’s it. I wish I could give you a clear, Johnny Carson-type answer.”

Cavendish frowns, trying to crystallize his statement of purpose as parade revelers pass by, one tossing an empty daiquiri cup onto the sidewalk.

“I guess it’s for others,” he says. “I like to think I did this, not for self-gratification, but for others.”

 

I‘ve already raved on this here blog about my sister Laura and how great she is. Among her many virtues: she is a tattoo collector with refined taste. I pretty much want to steal every tattoo she has. So it was part ink envy and part urge for sister bonding that led me to suggest we get matching tatts.

Laura was hesitant at first. It’s a challenge to get matching tattoos…we’d have to agree on a design, artist and body part. Then we’d have to get to the same tattoo shop, even though she lives in Rochester, New York and I live in New Orleans, Louisiana.

But I wore her down. And we built an entire trip around our tattoo adventure.

Laura is a meticulous tattoo researcher. She also has a policy of only being tattooed by female artists. She found a tattooer who did freaking amazing roses, was accepting new clients and seemed really nice. So we put down deposits, booked plane tickets and went to Portland, Oregon to get our sister tattoos done by D’Lacie Jeanne of Optic Nerve Arts Tattoo.

D’Lacie greeted us with sketches of four possible roses. After hashing out the finer details, it was needle time. I volunteered to go first, because I’d been marinating my shoulder all morning under a thick coat of Dr. Numb. If you’re planning on getting tattooed, do yourself a favor and get Dr. Numb. Spread that shit on thick, until it’s almost opaque white, like a cake’s icing. Wrap it in plastic wrap and let the doctor work for two hours. Unless you like gratuitous pain, in which case, maybe you should also munch some habanero peppers during your appointment.

“Pain is weakness leaving the body,” Laura reminded me.

“Sometimes pain is needles entering the body,” I said. “Again and again … for hours.”

Anyway. Here’s the sketch and color inspiration we decided on. See D’Lacie filling up a tiny cup with red ink?

We started a little before 1 p.m. and the tattoo took about three hours. It was rough at points. The worst part was when we were ALMOST finished, and I kept thinking, “I’m not even halfway done.” Because I was coming back for rose number two the next day.

Then it was Laura’s turn. I got nauseated and threw up after my session was over, which had never happened to me before, but D’Lacie said it’s not an uncommon reaction. Laura, however, sat like a champ.

By 7 p.m., we were both very pleased with our roses. Perhaps a little too pleased, because we couldn’t stop talking about how great they looked over beers and grilled cheese sandwiches at StormBreaker Brewing, which must have made for dull dinner conversation for our lovely and gracious host Rebecca. If she got tired of listening to us gloat, she didn’t let on. (REBECCA IS THE BEST.)

Sunday, I had a hearty brunch with Laura and Rebecca at Pine State Biscuits and then got rose number two. I have never sat on back-to-back days, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The roses took, total, about 6.5 hours. I’m glad to know I can handle sitting for that long, because it opens up an array of tattoo options. I don’t have to be limited to New Orleans tattoo artists (not that they aren’t talented and fantastic).  I might plan all my future trip destinations around artists I’d like to be tattooed by.

Here I am post tattoo session, a little shellshocked but very happy with the end result.

Here’s me and Laura with our matching sister tattoos. I am grateful for D’Lacie for sharing her incredible talent and being such an all-around wonderful person to spend time with. And I feel super lucky to have an awesome sister who’s down for sibling tattoos. Now every time I look at my shoulders, I’ll remember just how lucky I am.

I am a Carnival curmudgeon purist. Ne’er shall a morsel of king cake cross my lips prior to Epiphany, nor shall a strand of beads bedizen my neck after Ash Wednesday. However, part of me wishes every day could be Mardi Gras. So it was a delight to indulge that side last weekend at a preview party* for the new Louisiana State Museum exhibit From the Big Apple to the Big Easy: Two Carnival Artists. Cosponsored by Fashion Week NOLA and the Friends of the Cabildo, it featured original sketches by Helen Clark Warren (1895-1973) and John C. Scheffler (1939-2012).

I have a pretty big hard-on for Carnival costume design, bulletin design, bal masqué invitation design… and it’s easy to see why. Check this out! It’s a 1991 costume sketch for the Krewe of Aphrodite by Scheffler, titled Flamingos and Orchids.

And this riot of macaws, same designer, krewe and year, reflects the theme Aphrodite’s Tropical Paradise to a T.

Not too be upstaged by these fine ladies, yrs truly donned her most colorful Trashy Diva dress.

Of course, some ladies were relatively demure, like this exorbitantly trained 1946 Queen of High Priests of Mithra by Helen Clark Warren. (Surprisingly, the design was deigned “too ostentatious” and rejected by the krewe.)

A brass band regaled the crowd.

And there was QUITE a crowd!

There’s also a smorgasbord of other Carnival ephemera, including this stunner, as well as floats, band uniforms, throws, paintings, timelines…

I’d advise anyone who doesn’t hate life to visit the Presbytere and check the exhibit out. It’s only $6.

*Shoutout to Wayne Phillips, curator of Carnival collections for the Louisiana State Museum, for inviting me.

Last week, I wrote about being an Airbnb host for Gambit. You can read the essay here. I tried to honestly depict, in 800 words, what it’s like to have strangers present almost constantly in my house. I wanted to answer the questions I’d had before I started hosting, so that if readers were considering their own Airbnb side hustle, they’d walk away more informed.

Well. It was pretty much a shit show. There was this…

And a lot more Twitter vitriol (Twittriol?). AND I just found this reporting Robert McClendon did for the Times-Picayune…about my writing. Read it here.

When I wasn’t hunched over my computer scowling and sizzling with adrenaline, I was pleased. I wrote something and people read it and felt things, even if it was only their “head exploding” because of how bad my writing is. I have never, ever gotten this much Internet hate, and it was kind of awesome. Also, the haters have valid points. “Life-giving sediment” is WAY overwritten. I’m pretty embarrassed I didn’t edit myself better. McClendon points out I didn’t address the illegality of Airbnb, which does bear mentioning. So I’ll do that now, in this here blog.

I do a lot of illegal shit, like most people. I run stop signs, smoke weed and illegally download movies instead of paying $15 to see them at The Shops at Canal Place. SOMETIMES ALL AT THE SAME TIME.* Airbnb is definitely among my favorite illegal things to do, because it’s making me rich. The question I ask myself before undertaking any questionable activity isn’t whether I’m obeying the law, but whether I feel I am making a moral choice. Whether I am Doing Unto Others as I would have them Do Unto Me. So, if ALL my neighbors were to all start Airbnbing their houses, would that be, like, cool with me?

Obviously, I’m going to say yes. But it’s a conditional yes. And the condition is a strong one.

I support Airbnb in owner-occupied homes in New Orleans. I do not support Airbnb in properties leased solely for the purpose of short-term rentals in New Orleans. The former can potentially stabilize neighborhoods by putting money in homeowners’ pockets. The latter turns neighborhoods into hotels, as so many articles bemoan.

San Francisco recently passed legislation stating Airbnb operators “must be the Permanent Resident (owner or tenant) of the residential unit that you wish to rent short-term.” Operators have to register their unit with the county, and they’re limited to one. I would love to see a similar ordinance in New Orleans. But we don’t have one, and according to reporting by my colleagues and homie gs Kevin Allman and Alex Woodward, “the issue is off the front burner for now.”

Until then, locals have to let their conscience, an entity as whimsical and occasionally drunken as New Orleans itself, be their guide.

 

*JOKES.