Jenna Glatzer, Ghostwriter

I fixed the dryer today. Well, not so much the dryer as the dryer door. And not so much "fix" as just realign it and screw it in properly, which the repairman failed to do when he made it stop sounding like someone was lighting off fire crackers in it. Sometimes, it's the simplest things that cause the most consternation about getting divorced. You sit there on that first day after the big decision, thinking, "How am I ever going to do this? I have never put air in my own tires. I don't know when recycling day is. How do I make sure my pipes don't burst over the winter?" And it all looks huge and overwhelming, and then you just close your eyes and trust that you're going to find a way. And day after day, you do. If you let yourself feel it, each thing-- each stupid little thing-- feels like a victory. It shows you that you're more capable than you knew. Maybe especially if you have kids, there's the extra impetus to become more capable. I wan...

She thanked me today... for changing the sheets on the bed for removing her socks for changing her diaper for taking her out to play "Thank you, Mommy," she says. "Thank you for changing the sheets." She wants to know what rhymes with "Joe" and "Blue," and where Meatball the Lion went, and if Aunt Peeka will come to our house soon. She wakes up from her nap and recaps her day for me down to the last detail-- such as that she was sitting on the Skee-Ball machine when she did poopies in her diaper. "I need to be held in the carrier," she says, and "I need my hair"-- which is actually my hair, which has been her security blanket since she was born. She tugs on my hair and wraps it around her fingers while she sucks her thumb when she needs comfort. So I haven't used hair products in almost two years. She made her public singing debut at my brother's 30th birthday party, using the Elvis impersonator's microphone. She s...

On New Year's Eve, I found a link to the video on Kelly Corrigan's homepage . It was a tough day for me; in addition to the holiday, it was my brother's 30th birthday and my daughter wasn't with us. So you could blame it on that, but I think it was something more. I watched that little video and the tears just came to the surface. Like I needed them to. Sometimes, it's a gift to help someone cry. I loved Kelly. Watching that video made me want to know more about her, so I read pretty much everything on her site. She talks about her father, a relentlessly positive person who welcomes each day by opening the windows and shouting "Hello, world!" And she talks about its effects on her as a child, feeling like the universe was actively rooting for her. I thought this sounded like a good thing, so the next morning I had Sarina, I asked her, "What do you think? Should we open the windows and say 'Hello, world'?" She grinned. "No, Mommy,...

After 10 years, I'm finally realizing that I have a comfort zone when it comes to word counts. At least when it comes to magazine articles. I'd much rather write 1200-1500 words than anything much longer or shorter. When an editor wants me to write front-of-the-book type stuff-- 400 to 800 words or so-- I cringe a little. I know it's going to be just about as much work as the longer stuff, for less pay. I'm still going to have to do interviews, I'm still going to transcribe them, I'm still going to write the same meat of the article... and then I'm going to struggle like crazy to trim it down to what almost always seems like too small a space for the topic. Worse, though, is that there seem to be many editors who cannot grasp that 400 words is not enough to pack in everything they ask for in their brief. "Please write the entire history of the the automotive industry, and a sidebar about bicycles" is just not do-able. So then I do the mental equiva...

We go to a "Mommy and Me" group, where Sarina and I hang out and do a craft, play, have a snack, sing and dance, listen to a story, and learn about numbers and letters. Sarina is very proud of her crafts-- almost as proud as I am. She likes to show people and say, "I made this!" Truth is I wouldn't have realized she was ready for that kind of stuff. I saw the glue and foam and glitter on the craft table and thought, "Yeah, right." But then Sarina began sticking on sequins and calling for green glitter like a little craft diva. As we left this week, I prompted Sarina to say thank you to the owners. She did, then paused and added, "Thank you for the songs." It snowed here today, all puffy and slushy. She wasn't here. I miss the heck out of her. I think if my life circumstances were different, I would have been an Angelina Jolie type, with 7 kids. These days, I visit "waiting children" sites, where they show pictures and short prof...

I remember reading an article in a parenting magazine about less-popular "firsts": sure, we all notice the first step, the first word, and the first tooth, but this writer mentioned the first time her toddler picked up the phone and said, "Hewo?" I'm not sure if Sarina had even been born at the time, or if I was still pregnant, but I remember thinking how toddlerhood was a far way off. Tonight I had one of those sorts of firsts. I had cleverly hidden her Christmas gifts in my closet-- which I do a good job of keeping closed-- but my parents came over today to help me install a ceiling fan, and apparently they left the closet door open. Later, when I was cleaning up dinner, Sarina walked off for a moment... and returned with three items: Mr. Potato Head, a Doodlebops book, and her "big" gift: the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse play set. I ain't exactly rich this year (I know, who is?), so it's not like I can just go out and buy more toys to replace the ...

Have to say, I'm not a big fan of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse series, but my daughter is, so... yeah. We have a bunch of the books. In them, Mickey Mouse and friends call on Toodles to come bring them their Mouseketools when they have a problem that needs fixing. Our latest book describes a machine. When it works, it makes the noise "chugga-chugga-chug-chug," and when it's broken, it makes the noise "chugga-chugga-squeak!" Okay, that was background information. Now I can tell you what happened. Sarina was trying on Mommy's shoes again, as she does several times a day. She toddled around in my shoes until she stumbled and fell on her bottom behind my exercise bike (which makes a great clothes hanger). "Do you need help?" I asked. "Yes," came the reply. "I need a Mouseketool." The next day, we visited my parents, and Sarina tried to get water from their water machine. She doesn't know how to use it, though. The hot water bu...

...for why an interviewee will have to postpone our talk for a little while: "He can't come to the phone right now because he's in a tree with a rifle." (That would be hotelier Tim Dixon. Quite a character.)

Freelancers Union, also known as Working Today, offers freelancers health insurance in 31 states. I signed up with them two or three years ago, when the National Writers Union lost its health insurance provider. It seemed like a good idea-- an organization for freelancers, by freelancers, to negotiate good health insurance rates for the group. Ha! I began experiencing trouble with their customer service right away. It was clear that the organization's president, Sara Horowitz, used lots of nice words that had no actual meaning. She wrote to us about their commitment to better customer service and how glad she was that people kept them accountable... then did nothing to improve anything, and ignored our letters. To be more specific, I'll use my current example. They made a math error on my August bill. I had overpaid for two months, and they owed me a refund. Instead, they charged me again. I began politely e-mailing; they refused to acknowledge the problem. They told me to call...

And now I'll blow your mind (unless you're a published author, in which case you may already know this scenario). There I was in Barnes & Noble the other day. My book The Marilyn Monroe Treasures has just come out, and I happened to be across the street with my mom, so I suggested we stop in and take a look at it in all its glory. I already knew it was selling pretty well at that store, because a friend of mine had seen 16 copies on an endcap, then my mom went in two days later and there were 12, and when we walked in this time, there were 5. So at least 11 copies had sold that week. I felt good about that. Since it was an impromptu stop, I didn't have a Sharpie on me. I went to the customer service desk to borrow one. "Hi," I said. "I'm the author of The Marilyn Monroe Treasures , which you have in stock up front. I'd love to sign the copies you have if you can lend me a Sharpie." The clerk actually looked upset. She referred me to a woman ...

Sarina's new favorite song is "When the Lights Go Out" by the Doodlebops, which is lucky for me, because I really like the song, too. But she believes that the correct wording should be "When the Lights Go Down." We argued about it for a bit. I told her that she was indeed right that it could be "When the Lights Go Down," but that in this case, the song lyric was "When the Lights Go Out," which was also acceptable. She would have none of it. "Of course, 'When the Lights Go Down,'" she told me. She made me put on the music video again, and I thought this would settle the debate, but instead, I believe she was making me watch it so I could see just how very, very wrong DeeDee Doodlebug was. Perhaps she wanted me to write a letter of protest to make them change the title. Or perhaps she was just stalling bedtime again. Here she is singing the Sesame Street theme song. 19 months old. Here she is singing the ABCs. And here she i...

Our friend Lisa and her sister-in-law sent over a ton of fall and winter clothes for Sarina. Sarina has been modeling in front of the mirror for two days now, and exclaiming, "Cute!" about everything (her favorite is the Wiggles hat, which she's wearing at totally inappropriate times). She has a message for Lisa:

This just can't be normal. Are 18-month-olds supposed to make up their own songs? Her first one went something like this: We go shopping And we buy white socks And purple socks, too She serenaded me with it while she ate dinner tonight. Then I realized she stuck purple socks into the cart, in the wrong size. You know how it feels silly to go back to a store to exchange one pair of socks? So you wind up keeping them for five years until finally realizing that, no, you're never going to meet someone who needs this particular pair of size 3-4 1/2 purple socks, so you stick them in a donation bag? Is that just me? Anyway, this week has been all about questions. Sarina is asking whatever's on her mind now-- "What's that noise?" "Is something wrong?" "Aunt Pat, what are you doing with the saw?" "How 'bout pancakes?" She also has shown her first fear: the door. When someone walks in the door without knocking or ringing the bell, she ...

Diapers and I are not friends, in general. I've never found a brand and type that really works for Sarina, who apparently has an unusual body type for a toddler. (She's tall and thin, so the leg holes are always... insufficient.) But as the months go on, I've switched brands and types a few times, because different types have worked better for her at different ages. What started it all were the Pampers Swaddlers, which I kept her in as long as possible. And now they've introduced Pampers Swaddlers Sensitive, which is a nice step up. Pampers sent me a pack to review-- hey, thanks, Pampers-- but since Sarina is beyond the "Swaddlers" sizes (which go up to only size 2), I can't give a tried-and-tested review, only a review of my observations. What got me excited about this diaper (yes, moms DO get excited about these sorts of things) was the "wetness indicator." The PR person emphasized this, but I was surprised to see that it wasn't at all high...

but this is one of my favorite pics ever. Also, the other day, I bought Sarina a toy guitar at a garage sale, and there were no batteries in it. Sarina spotted the guitar and tried pressing its buttons. "It broke," she told me. "It just needs batteries," I said. She walked into the living room, pulled out the television remotes, and removed the batteries from them. "Got the batteries!" she announced. 17 months old. I love this kid. P.S. I'm getting divorced. It's not something I want to talk/post about, but it's something that's awkward having people not know about for so long. So there it is.

Before I was a mother, I thought women who said things like "My kids are my whole world" must have pretty sad lives. I thought it must be a drag to have to think of someone else's needs before your own all the time. I thought my career defined me. I didn't understand all the fuss about breastfeeding and why women would ever want to continue it for more than a year. I cared about suffering children, but I didn't physically ache every time I heard about a child who was abused, starving, suffering from a disease, or abandoned. I didn't know that spending a Friday night making stacks of paper cups and watching a toddler knock them down could be a really great night. I didn't know baby kisses could be the most memorable kisses of my life. I hated pink. Shopping really wasn't my thing. I had no idea it could be so much fun to shop for things for my child. I didn't understand that all the gross things kids do aren't gross when they're your kids. I...

On August 3, 2008, at approximately 9:30 p.m., my baby ceased being a baby. It all started last week, really, when she began talking in complete sentences. I asked, "Sarina, do you want me to open the door?" and she responded, "Mommy, open the door." Several 4-word phrases and sentences followed. She dropped a quarter in her grandparents' pool and said, "Money in the pool!" What got me the most, aside from the fact that she was 16 months old, was that she was speaking in gramatically correct terms. I was unstoppably happy, glowing with the pride of a parent who's just found out her daughter will be the valedictorian of her class at Harvard AND has paid off her schooling with the money she's made as a cover model for tasteful magazines. Then the unstoppable happiness stopped. It happened when I was preparing for Sarina's bath. She was playing in her room, and I went to her closet to check for diapers. She came up behind me and tapped me. ...

I experienced a new joyful "first" today, and it caught me off-guard. I was reading Sarina a book, and she decided-- as she is wont to do-- that she wanted me to read her a different book. So she popped off my lap and went to her bookshelf, and brought me the book she wanted me to read. And it was a book I wrote . *Dies of happiness.*

A few months ago, my former editor at Nomad (hi, Lauri!) recommended me for a job writing a book proposal for Scott Rigsby, the first double-amputee to complete an Ironman. He was featured on NBC's 2007 Ironman special-- a great show, which you should definitely watch if it reruns again. I'm no sports person, but this was a human interest piece to the extreme. Great stories. So that's what I've been doing these past few months: working with Scott to get this book proposal ready. Slowly. (Yeah, this balancing-motherhood-with-writing stuff is still a huge challenge to me.) How lucky am I to have found a person who doesn't mind being interviewed at midnight? The proposal is just about done, and I can't wait to see where this book lands. A few publishers are already interested, just based on the pitch, but I suspect a lot more will be excited about it once they read this proposal. It's the longest one I've ever written... closing in on 60 pages. I thought it...