Jenna Glatzer, Ghostwriter

...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...

Little in life is more disheartening than this conversation I had yesterday with an acquaintance I see every few weeks: Her: You don't look good. Me: That's because I'm not wearing makeup. Her: No, really. Your eyes are very puffy. Me: No, that's how I always look. You just normally see me with makeup. Her: You look like you've been crying. Me: I haven't. I promise. Her: You really don't look good. *Sigh.* Thanks, lady. Could you perhaps point me to the nearest bridge that I could hurl myself off? My eyes aren't aging well. The rest of me is fine, but I've always, always had a problem with big bags under my eyes, and they're only getting worse with time. I've tried dozens of products, but no success so far. I'm actually contemplating plastic surgery eventually, because it's just hard to feel good about yourself when people actually insist on a regular basis that you must not be sleeping. (I am.) Of course, I've tried the cucumber ...

Yaaaaaaaaaaay! Do you understand how long I've been trying to coax a kiss out of this girl? Tonight, as usual, I asked, "Sarina, can I have a kiss on the cheek?" And this time, she did it. Twice. Bartender! Smoothies for everyone, on me!

The Street-Smart Writer: Self-Defense Against Sharks and Scams in the Writing World is one of the more important books I've written (co-written, actually, with publishing attorney Daniel Steven). My publisher has kindly released an ebook version totally FREE, no strings attached, through Wowio.com. They add in a sponsor's ad in the front and back, but aside from that, it's exactly the same as the print book (which costs $16.95). Here's the link: http://www.wowio.com/users/product.asp?BookId=2646 You have to register with Wowio, but I did that a few weeks ago to make sure they wouldn't spam or do any funny business... they didn't. So NO EXCUSES! It's free, and you don't even have to leave the comfort of your computer. Please, read this book, blog about it, send the link on to all the new and new-ish writers you know, and let's help save people from becoming easy prey for scammers and schemers in the publishing world. Thanks! Here's the book's...

5 Minutes for Mom is having a photo contest , and the challenge is to find a photo that exemplifies what motherhood means to you. This one is mine. Three generations. One little girl who makes my world turn. I finally "get it," what life is all about. Boop.

Sarina is attempting her first song. And it's Old MacDonald. A week ago or so, she started saying "E-I," which I knew was the beginning of "E-I-E-I-O." Tonight, she attempted to sing it. "E-I-YIIII... E-I-YIIII..." Four times, and she smiled, pleased with her attempt. These are the times I feel like one giant feeling. Like I'm just a big fuzzy ball of love and pride and more love. This is my daughter. My daughter sits in my lap and wants to read books and sing. She's a real little person, figuring out her likes and dislikes, letting me come along for the ride. Even when nothing else is going right, I still get to be Sarina's mother, and that's enough.

Connor is turning one, and his mom, Angela, feels just the same way about it as I did about Sarina turning one... happy and sad at the same time. Lucky and blessed and wishing time would slow down. Do you know what we did tonight for half an hour? Flopped around on the bed. She got a huge kick out of "falling" on the bed and realizing she wasn't going to get hurt, so she started flopping herself all around on the pillows, cracking up the whole time. So I joined her. And remembered something-- hey, it's fun to bounce around on a bed. Thank God for this silly little person who reminds me how to smile.

She now pulls out the book she wants me to read, hands it to me, then sits on my lap. Then, as I turn pages, she kisses the characters she likes. Sometimes I feel like my heart will burst. Normally, she doesn't kiss actual people yet-- though I did trick her into kissing my hand and she spontaneously kissed my arm one morning-- but she kisses pictures and clothing pretty often. Her favorite book remains Don't Be So Nosy, Posy , and she loves kissing the pig and cow in that book. She says about 30 words now; Elmo, purple, cookie, and neigh are some of the more recent ones. And she's making up some of her own sign language. One is driving me bats: she'll sign "eat," and I'll ask, "Are you hungry?" Then she'll do this very weird sign she made up-- she clasps the fingers on her right hand together and turns her hand upside down and sticks it over one eye. What in Zeus's name is that supposed to mean? I can narrow it down-- it's not cereal...