tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29277635409266858492024-01-25T19:43:44.209-08:00Jillian CantorJillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-82991460149559316172012-03-20T07:29:00.004-07:002012-03-20T07:46:02.926-07:00Dutch Rights!If you're following this blog (or if you see me on Twitter or Facebook) you know what an exciting week I had last week when my new book deal was announced in <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/book-news/deals/article/51011-deals-week-of-march-12-2012.html">Publisher's Weekly</a>!! But the icing on the proverbial cake came in the form of a 6 AM phone call from my agent Friday morning letting me know that Dutch publisher Orlando wanted to pre-empt Dutch rights to the book!!! Needless to say, I am beyond thrilled that MARGOT has already found an amazing home in the Netherlands! <div><br /></div><div>Thanks to everyone who sent me congratulations and well-wishes last week. And for those of you who asked, I'll be posting more details about MARGOT here soon.</div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-23447162301292145382012-03-12T09:01:00.005-07:002012-03-12T14:26:51.651-07:00BIG NEWS!!!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">I had such an amazing weekend with writers and readers at the Tucson Festival of Books, and now I'm so thrilled to be able to start this week off by announcing some BIG NEWS I've been dying to share: My next book, Margot, which re-imagines the life of Anne Frank's sister in post-war America sold to Laura Perciasepe at Riverhead/Penguin!!!! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">Check out the details from this morning's <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/book-news/deals/article/51011-deals-week-of-march-12-2012.html">Publisher's Weekly</a>:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><i>Laura Perciasepe at Riverhead Books took world English rights to the literary debut from Jillian Cantor, Margot. Jessica Regel at the Jean V. Naggar Agency closed the deal for Cantor, whose first book, the commercial women’s fiction outing Transformation of Things, was published by Avon in November 2010. The new novel reimagines the life of Anne Frank’s sister, Margot, who supposedly kept her own diary and died shortly before Anne, in 1945. Perciasepe, Regel said, writes about Margot coming to America, after the war, as “Anne’s growing status as a cultural icon dramatically upends [her] own new identity, love, and life.”</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >I am so, so excited about this book, and could not be more thrilled that it will be published by Riverhead!!!!!! (I'm overdoing the exclamation points, I know, but there are not enough exclamation points in the world to show how thrilled I am!!!) </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><br /></span></div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-41787924415961774132012-03-08T20:28:00.002-08:002012-03-08T20:38:03.655-08:00Tucson Festival of BooksI'll be at the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend!<div><br /></div><div>On Saturday, March 10th at 10 AM I'm on a panel called Secrets, Lies, and Double Lives with Laura Fitzgerald, Tayari Jones, and T. Greenwood in the Student Union -- Tucson Room. </div><div><br /></div><div>On Sunday, March 11th at 10 AM I'll be moderating a panel called Mending Broken Bonds with Jane Green, Jenna Blum, and Diana Abu Jaber in the Integrated Learning Center -- Room 150. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hope to see you there!</div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-77815009181617392432012-01-08T13:11:00.000-08:002012-01-08T13:28:19.940-08:00A Year Later<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">This morning, I went to the grocery store. It was a simple thing to do, something I have done countless other mornings. Something I did last year, this same day. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">January 8<sup>th</sup>.</i> Last year I left the house to go to the grocery store; only, first I was stopping to meet a new friend for coffee. You know what happened next; I wrote about it<a href="http://www.jilliancantor.blogspot.com/2011/01/in-which-i-write-something.html"> here</a>, last year. My new friend and I shared a coffee across the parking lot from the shooting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I stared out the window at the first responders as they pulled up, having no idea what had happened, at first.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After my friend and I parted ways that morning, I stopped at the grocery store, just the way I’d planned (not THE Safeway, mind you, but another store, a block away). It was such a simple thing to do, a silly thing almost. I probably should’ve gone straight home. But instead I found myself walking around the store aimlessly, piling things in my cart without really paying attention to what they were or what I needed. I paid; I drove home. I put the groceries away. My hands were shaking. I was numb. The next morning, I could not find half the things I bought at the store, things that were recorded on my receipt as paid for. I checked the car, called the store. Nothing. Half the groceries were gone. In hindsight, I suspect I might have accidentally thrown them away in my stupor rather than putting them away. Because two or three bags of groceries, couldn’t just disappear.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I thought about it this morning. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">It has been a year,</i> I told myself. And that is the detail I recalled first: the missing groceries. Already, my memory of that morning has become fragmented and hazy, fogged over with shock, I guess. Then I recalled driving back to the store the next day to re-buy the things I’d lost. They were easy to reclaim; they were only things after all. Food. But other things were not so easy for me. Walking back into that grocery store again, the next day, I was suddenly afraid. Anything could happen. Any time. Any place. I felt exposed. I felt that way for weeks, possibly months, this horrible sinking feeling every time I had to leave my house to go out into the world. Worse, I’d imagine how the people closer than I had been were feeling, and I couldn’t comprehend it. I still can’t.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t write for a while last winter. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but that at first, I couldn’t. I had no words; no stories to tell that seemed worth telling. I read a lot of news, especially about the shooting and the victims, how they were doing, how they were moving on. I stared at a blank Microsoft Word document for weeks. I have always been good at writing my emotions, and so I kept pushing myself just to write something, just to make myself write through it somehow. I knew it would help me. But for a little while, I couldn’t write anything.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last spring my words came back. Slowly, I forced myself to begin a new novel. At first, I thought I would write a novel about a shooting – because it was what I was thinking about, what I was feeling. I would do what I was good at, writing my emotions. But a few chapters in, I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it will always be too soon?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I started something else. Something I’ve been wanting to write for a long time but wasn’t sure how, and then suddenly, I was. I was sure of nothing else but this. I was breathing again. I was writing again. The words were all there, and so were the emotions. -- my new character was experiencing so much of what I had, loss and grief, and also, hope.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After I began writing again, I fell into the story. I slept it, ate it dreamt, obsessed over it, and then, the fear slowly began to subside. Going to the grocery store became just going to the grocery store again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This morning, I went to the grocery store. I wasn’t afraid anymore. But I was filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">It has been a year.</i> It feels like a lifetime, or maybe, only hours. My memory is already fragmented, but that doesn't mean I will ever forget. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-20957794037383098962011-11-30T19:09:00.000-08:002011-11-30T20:34:17.833-08:00Honored<div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday I attended the Arizona Library Association's (AZLA) annual conference to accept The Judy Goddard/Libraries Ltd. Award for <i>The Life of Glass</i>! It was such a huge honor that they chose my book this year, and the award is quite possibly the most gorgeous award I've ever seen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here I am accepting the award, and giving my acceptance speech!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8nWWm8_k4qKL3GzYehBdjtZJxdoIMHc4k6YQyezmqyfQndxxgak4fUP-u-HoCKS9iun2h3RluDieOTFHYz7c36uvrWDaz0whKQNcLuxMKotprePHv50qdtrFzbgAPUNk7tVsNfxoLym_/s320/azla2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680993213034498178" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And here I am doing a panel with the other state award winners, Amanda Noll, Jody Feldman, Me, and Jennifer Ward. That's Mary our excellent moderator on the end :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg21Ovw0Gl__FvikrsDXMMjV3g-icUuXuTNPIm-Y2HHrHpCbucrxdV5BPwRrZxaOOhIs694KY-UdcAx8EQZabGD9YVbo0KSiJx15Gd0GOW6L9rOIPwi9qiV_weH_E0s3bZhs7TahP5-AOj/s320/azla5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680993781897507106" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here we are signing books after our panel!</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfnKaTd-up-_5F2z7UinDGS3IIgK18mDums525vdFOApnkI-WeCROW7rSKznrPPci59iy_AxY4_mmJjtlDKlQt4ax2mRU8ohjzsry9gpR-gZkEg-fa_F2aZd19IgTyK93vG5jcqmXy8s-/s320/azla3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680994879774342594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And here is a picture of my AMAZING LOOKING award!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjssK-zA2T7w3ezZzM2BacIEopgJZvLDQ_Sbvypg0vptZgczAPZc3hGiveZcwnfCjSisYVJO5JVGT8lZ1l7EEanvfa3a5rHUnmKb54PhtaLJN_ooLH7lkmZsieEGf9v7UMXQXxN80GrCTG2/s320/azlaaward.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680995646956119378" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'm so grateful to all the amazing librarians in Arizona (and everywhere!) who always support my books. It was a great day, and I felt like a rockstar! I have my award sitting on my desk, where I definitely think it will bring me good luck!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-3376367165354279702011-11-12T13:12:00.000-08:002011-11-12T14:49:08.379-08:00Penn StateI have spent the past week thinking a lot about college. I keep thinking I should write something here -- and people who know I went to Penn State have been asking me and emailing me about the events unfolding and wanting to know what I think. But to tell you the truth, I haven't felt I've had the words to say anything meaningful enough. Like so many people, and I guess, PSU alumni especially, I have been glued to all the press coverage. Horrified. Outraged. Shocked. Sickened. My husband (also a PSU alum.) and I have been discussing every new detail, dissecting all of it. Trying to make some sense of any of it. Of course, we can't. How could so many adults stand by and do nothing while children were being harmed in this way, and at our college, while we were going to school there? In many ways, to both of us, I think it's all felt surreal. <div><br /></div><div>I guess it's because us Penn Staters, we feel our college years were something special. We are bonded together by this knowledge of four years spent in the idyllic Happy Valley of central Pennsylvania. I am always surprised, even now living all the way across the country, how often I run into Penn State grads, and how connected I feel to them. Nearly every time I wear my Penn State sweatshirt I find a connection. More than once, a stranger has called out the infamous "We are. . . " from across the street. Not that I don't do the same -- if I spot a Nittany Lion, I'll start talking to a stranger, too. A fellow PSU grad is not a stranger, after all. When I was in graduate school, I had a professor who always confused my undergrad school and thought I'd attended Penn, not Penn State. Sure maybe Penn is ivy league, but so what? I always corrected him. We PSU grads, we are a proud bunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it's not just football. For me, it's not about football at all. Sure, I went to some games when I was there, and that was fun. And yes, when we saw Joe Paterno walking through the dining commons, we'd stop talking and stare, as if we'd spotted a celebrity in our midst. But these are not the things I think or remember when I think about my time at Penn State. I think about the people: my friends and my teachers. And the place: the snow and the brick buildings, the walk-able town. I long for that place sometimes now, the feeling that somewhere an idyllic small town, where people are nice and wholesome, that that still exists. I think about taking my kids to see it, when they're older. I think about what it was like to live there for some of the most formative years of my life. And I think for me, that is what has been taken away this past week. That all the beauty and the wholesomeness, that the entire idyllic backdrop of my college years, that it was a lie. And the worst kind of lie, at that. Because Happy Valley was not a safe and idyllic place after all, was it?</div><div><br /></div><div>But, there are still the people. And I'm not talking about Paterno or Spanier or any of the rest of them, because these are not the people I think of when I think of Penn State. I think about the friends I made. I think about the graduate students and professors who taught me a lot, and not just about English, writing, sociology, theater, and yes, even astronomy. But about life. I learned to be a reader and a thinker and a dreamer. I made friends who did the same. And when I see another PSU alum, a stranger, these are the kinds of connections I feel I share with them. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of the first nice things I've read about Penn State this past week led me to <a href="http://www.proudtobeapennstater.com/">this website</a> where Penn State alums are banding together to raise money for abuse victims. Their goal is to raise $500,000 and already, they are more than halfway there. My guess is, they will exceed their goal. That is the kind of Penn State I remember, anyway. I am happy to see that it wasn't all a lie. </div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-70183400963168596532011-09-12T13:37:00.001-07:002011-09-12T18:41:10.710-07:00In Tragedy, a Writing Lesson<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">Ten </span>years ago, when 9/11 happened, I was in graduate school. Yesterday, I was trying to remember that time, that week, and very little of it comes back to me. I know I was sad and terrified and numb, even though I was living across the country from the terror attacks and didn’t personally know anyone who’d been affected. I remember a sense of shock, the feeling that nothing would ever be the same, but I can only remember this in the vaguest sense. Was school cancelled? I was teaching, but what did I say to my students? I have no idea. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is one odd thing I remember vividly, though. Maybe it was the day the attacks happened or the day after or later that week, but I was sitting in a fiction workshop class. It must’ve been the first one we had in this new world, because the professor, an older and slightly frightening man who I felt would never understand me or my writing (and mostly, I was right about that part), sat in front of the class and began by saying this:<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> So let’s talk about what happened.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It seemed obvious what he was going to talk about, what everyone was talking about then. But then he said something else: “My dog died,” he confessed, “and I can’t get over it.” He went on to talk about how his dog, who’d been with him for years, had passed away over the weekend or maybe on 9/11 – that much I can’t remember now. “I know I should be sadder about 9/11 than about my dog,” he said. “So many people died. But I didn’t know any of them.” Then he added. “My dog was with me for so many years. My house is so empty without her.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe because it was a fiction writing workshop, and because he felt he was dedicated to teaching us, even when none of us were in the mood for learning, he added that there was a writing lesson in this. “It’s the smallest tragedies that are the ones worth writing about,” he told us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the time, it sounded all wrong to me. I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, or why he was saying it then. I am an animal lover, but still, it felt like the wrong conversation to be having at the time. There were so many other things to say, to think about, to worry about, to mourn.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yet, something about it has stuck with me all these years later. When I think about the days and weeks surrounding 9/11, this is one of the only things I remember with clarity. In fact, this is one of the only things I remember from two years worth of intense and soul-crushing writing workshops with clarity. Why?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The new book I’ve been working on takes place against the backdrop of an enormous historical tragedy, yet the story I am choosing to tell is a deeply singular and personal story of one woman’s loss. I’m finding the best part of writing it is in the details of this one particular woman and the people closest to her who she has lost and loved.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I keep thinking about this one professor telling my class about how his dog died on 9/11, how it’s the smallest of tragedies that are worth writing about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is he right? </p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-72737382340001119572011-08-21T20:01:00.001-07:002011-08-21T20:36:23.779-07:00Starting FreshWhile it's still summer for most of you, in Arizona school has been in session for a few weeks now. It's been exhausting/hectic getting back into the swing of waking up insanely early and walking back and forth to school in the lovely Arizona August heat (oh, and a few crazy monsoon storms that decided to dump tons of rain, wind, and hail on us just as soon as I walked out of my house to go to school pick-up. Did I mention, we WALK to school here?!)<div>
<br /></div><div>Anyway, something happened this year, that hasn't happened to me in, well, it's been so many years I honestly can't remember. My youngest child started preschool, and so for the first time, both of my kids are in school for some portion of the day most days of the week. In short: I get about three hours to myself. All to myself. Here's that thing I haven't experienced in years: quiet. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>My writing career didn't really "officially" start until after I had kids (i.e. I didn't actually get a book contract with a publisher until just after kidlet two was born.) So that means my books were written in the in-between spaces. In between taking care of the kids, teaching a few classes, and just life in general. The majority of my words came during daily afternoon naptimes, at night after the kids went to bed or early mornings on the weekends. I never had a nanny or someone to watch my kids during the day, and I enjoyed the fact that writing allowed me to spend lots of time with them. But also, I learned to write quickly, to economize my time and my words, because really, I had no other choice. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Then, a few weeks ago. I walked back into my house after dropping both kids at school. Quiet. Three empty hours in the morning where I could write. In Quiet.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I sat down at the kitchen table with my laptop and a cup of coffee and opened up my current WIP. (Notice, I did not even consider that I should empty my dishwasher or clean up from breakfast. No, I just shoved the mess aside, and plunked the laptop down on the table!). Anyway, about the WIP, I'd been wavering on it for most of the summer: should I finish it or shouldn't I? Was it too small? Did it need something else? Did it have too much? After about an hour of that aforementioned quiet, I suddenly knew exactly what I needed to do with the book and where to take it. I also knew, that maybe I shouldn't do it right now, that maybe I should let it simmer in the back of my brain for a bit. There was something else I'd been thinking about writing for a while, but I didn't know much about it. The thought of writing it honestly had always felt exhausting, because I knew there would be a lot of research involved. But then, there I was again. It was quiet. And that previously insurmountable research felt like it might even be fun. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So all of us here in my household are starting fresh: my kidlets at school, my husband (a teacher) back at work. And me, with a new project ahead of me. I've been so excited about it these last few weeks, I can barely contain myself. In fact I have not been THIS excited about a project in some time. Maybe it's the quiet, the space to think, the space I now have to do something I might have once considered too much. But in any case, here's to quiet and fresh starts! How's your August shaping up?</div><div>
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<br /></div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-91205196684478985712011-04-30T08:42:00.000-07:002011-04-30T09:03:39.464-07:00Goodbye, Hair<div>A few months ago I read about <a href="http://www.pantene.com/en-us/beautiful-lengths-cause/Pages/default.aspx">Pantene Beautiful Lengths</a>, a program where you send Pantene at least eight inches of your hair and they use it to make wigs to donate to women with cancer. I wanted to do it. Sometimes, in my life as a writer, I feel very solitary and selfish, always worried about <i>my</i> words and <i>my</i> books. I spend my days thinking about things like <i>self-</i>promotion and selling my next book. It’s very, me, me, me. Don’t get me wrong – I love writing. But I also think it’s important to remember that there are bigger things out there. So I made a promise to myself, I guess a New Year’s Resolution of sorts, that I was going to try, this year, to focus on a few things outside of myself, a few things that would help other people.</div><div><p class="MsoNormal">At first, my hair wasn’t long enough. So I decided I would let it grow. Then, my hair was long enough, and I was scared to cut it all off. So I waited. And I waited. And my split ends were starting to take on a life of their own, since, by this point, it had been months and months since I had any sort of hair cut. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to call and make an appointment to get my hair cut because then I felt like I’d be going back on a promise. A promise I’d made to myself, but still. Every morning, I found myself looking at my hair, thinking that it really, really needed to be cut. But I didn't do anything about it.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Last night, I blew my hair out straight and measured it again. And yes, it was more than long enough. I bundled it in a ponytail at the nape of my neck and asked my husband to cut the ponytail off. <i>Just cut straight</i>, I told him. He insisted that he could not cut straight, that he was afraid of messing it up. <i>Just do it.</i> I told him, handing him the scissors. <i>Just cut straight.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal">He was right. He could not cut straight. A few minutes later, he handed me the most crooked lopped off ponytail ever. I imagine the people at Pantene may even start laughing when they see it, trying to imagine what I look like on the other end.</p></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJsfXPFzvFp9aPS5jH2c9CAs6gEZMWMcY8PeltuwtnLdvLjitpvlWiFQ98DP67RIHouPPTrC75tiijIXyWblIZ4J4HKEfiqGtjajg6pEW2ZaupK8AXatdcTP4KAwpGuJ7RpzA8ZUBgl1I/s1600/IMG_0221.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJsfXPFzvFp9aPS5jH2c9CAs6gEZMWMcY8PeltuwtnLdvLjitpvlWiFQ98DP67RIHouPPTrC75tiijIXyWblIZ4J4HKEfiqGtjajg6pEW2ZaupK8AXatdcTP4KAwpGuJ7RpzA8ZUBgl1I/s320/IMG_0221.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601406636691837794" /></a><div style=""><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"> One side of my hair was about two inches shorter than the other. I<i> told you I couldn’t do it, m</i>y husband was insisting. Yes, in his defense, he had. <i>You should’ve let me cut it</i>, my kindergartner said. Yes, I should have. <i>Next time</i>, I told him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I took the scissors and straightened it out the best I could. My hair is curly anyway, so it’s fine. It’s just that now, it’s really really short, just below my ears. </p><p class="MsoNormal">After this whole debacle we went out last night to a concert. I kept wondering if people were staring at my slightly crooked hair, or if people who knew me where silently critiquing my way-too-short cut. I woke up this morning, searching through my drawers for cute barrettes, and when I couldn’t find any, made a promise to myself that this will be my first errand of the day. Maybe with a headband it wouldn’t be so bad, I tried to convince myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I packaged up my ponytail and addressed the envelope. I thought about the woman who will get this crooked ponytail, eventually. (The Pantene site says it takes six of them to make a wig, so that will mean five other people like me will also need to do this to help one woman.) I thought about her, and how maybe all her hair has fallen out from cancer treatment. How her problems cannot be solved by cute barrettes or headbands. How she has much bigger things to worry about than crooked ends. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I showed my kids the ponytail and told them I was going to send it to help someone who was sick get a wig. <i>Cool,</i> my kindergartener said. Then he added, <i>Mom, you look so beautiful with your new hair. </i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So it’s almost summer and my hair is really short. So what?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I will grow it back, and then I’ll do this again, I promise myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Only next time, I will ask someone else to cut!</p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-74326055878122635702011-04-07T16:42:00.000-07:002011-04-07T16:49:08.314-07:00For All the Teachers Who Told Me I Can<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">My kindergartener spent the majority of our ten-minute walk to school this morning excited about the fact that today was a Thursday, which meant today he had library class. Which meant he would get to go to the library and check out a book. Even in the early hours of the morning, he was debating which book he might choose (<i>Flat Stanley</i> or <i>Geronimo Stilton</i> or maybe something else entirely – He marveled at the possibilities.) And suddenly, there I was, reminded what it felt like to be that age, to have just learned to read entire books by oneself, and to discover the possibilities that are contained inside a library. I wondered for a brief moment, would he grow up to be like me? Would he want to be a writer? Then I had another thought: by the time he’s old enough, will that even be possible, or will schools have been decimated to the point where writing, maybe even the arts in general, cease to exist?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What brought this on for me was <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/seth-abramson/american-university-uncer_b_844671.html">the news that Penn State (my undergraduate alma mater) is cutting its top-ranked MFA program</a>. This particularly hit home for me because this feels like<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> my</i> school. Though I didn’t get my MFA here, my undergraduate degree was in English, with a creative writing emphasis, so I worked with the MFA faculty, and Penn State was the place where I first realized I could and would become a writer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When you’re a writer, or I imagine in any artistic field, there will always be what feels like a million people telling you you can’t. Rejection becomes a way of life. Few and far between will be those people who tell you, you can. And most of those people in my life were teachers. There was the humanities teacher in fourth grade who assigned me to write stories every week and then told me mine were good. The ninth grade English teacher who pushed me to think harder about what stories meant. The twelfth grade English teacher who made me memorize Hamlet and (even--gasp) like Chaucer. At Penn State, there was the MFA student who taught the first real fiction writing class I ever took. He was brutally honest, to everyone, and so when he told me my stories showed promise, I took that to mean that I should keep writing. Then there was the professor who I’d go on to take several fiction writing workshops with and who would become my advisor for my undergraduate thesis (a short collection of stories). She was (and is, I’m sure) wise and kind and encouraging. She called me into her office and said things like “Jill, let’s talk about your work,” as if the stories I was writing were something worth talking about, as if <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">my work</i> was important. She tirelessly read my revisions, answered my questions and e-mails, and even said she was happy to write me recommendations for the 15 (yes, 15) MFA programs I applied for.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In writing this, maybe I’m making it sound like everything was easy, that people were always encouraging to me. But the truth is, I’m leaving out the vast majority, the people who told me can’t. The friends and family who told me that writing wasn’t a real/viable career. The 11<sup>th</sup> grade English teacher who told me I couldn’t write. The non-fiction professor who once told me my writing was “boring,”(and for that matter, so was my life.). The twelve MFA programs that said, no thanks. The countless agents and then editors who would go on to sometimes nicely (sometimes not so nicely) reject my work.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But amidst all of that, I’ve somehow always able to drown out the no’s with the words of the teachers who told me I could do it. In the five years between when I wrote my first novel and sold it, the one thing that often kept me pushing forward, despite the countless rejections, were the words of a professor I worked with in graduate school, who once told me she was positive my novel would be published. She believed, and thus, I had to, too.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I sometimes wonder where I would be without all those teachers who told me I can. What I would be doing now if that 4<sup>th</sup> grade teacher hadn’t asked me to write a story, if that MFA student hadn’t told me I showed promise, if that professor hadn’t called me into her office and talked about my writing as if it were important?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I feel a deep sadness at the thought of this being eradicated from Penn State, from the place I feel so deeply indebted to for my writing career. But even sadder, to me, is that this only caught my attention because it hits so close to home. Penn State is right now just one unfortunate example, in a sea of them lately. It feels like the new trend is to cut, cut, cut education, the arts especially. I’ve heard so much of it, that I’ve almost started to drown it out. It has become shockingly “normal.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so I wonder, if you start taking away those teachers who tell people like me that we can, what will we be left with in ten years? In twenty? Will there be anyone left “crazy” enough to write, or for that matter, play music, paint, take pictures, make movies? When my son is one day taking his own child to school, will he even know what a library is? I hope so. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-72254614216936998542011-03-29T19:17:00.000-07:002011-03-29T19:35:28.570-07:00Dreams<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">If you’ve read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Transformation of Things</i>, then you’ve probably guessed that I’ve always been interested in dreams, in what they mean, where they come from, how they affect us. Yes, the book takes a bit of a fantasy spin on all this, but it’s rooted in the fact that dreams have always interested me. As a kid, I had a dream dictionary that I used to use religiously, every morning, looking up what my dreams from the night before meant. As an adult, I hang on to dreams, sometimes write them down, often think about them, analyze them, try to seek some sort of meaning from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In almost all my memorable dreams, I’m in the house I grew up in. We moved from this house before I started high school, but I hardly ever dream about that later house, or even the one I live in now, or anything in between. Often my dreams also involve my best friend (who I’ve been friends with since kindergarten), and maybe it’s because I have so many memories of the two of us spending summer days in that old house. I’m not sure. But a large part of my dreams are very rooted in these aspects from my childhood, even when that makes absolutely no sense with what’s going on in the dream.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lately I’ve been dreaming about my dead grandfather. <i>A lot.</i> He died over three years ago, but the dreams have only begun lately, a month or two ago. In the first dream, he was with me and my best friend at a historical landmark pulled directly from the book I’m working on. (Okay, it probably doesn’t take a genius to figure out how that wormed its way into my subconscious!) Anyway, he was our tour guide in the dream, and he showed my friend and me around, in the process telling us that everything was going to be okay and that we needed to stop worrying so much. I hung onto that dream for weeks, because it felt so real – not the tour guide at the historical landmark part, but his words. When he was alive, he’d always ask me about my writing, and at the time, the submission process for my first book. I talked to him every Sunday, and every Sunday he’d ask. At first about getting an agent, then whether the book had sold to a publisher. Every Sunday for probably two or three years, I’d say something like, “I don’t know if this book is ever going to get published.” And he’d say. “Don’t worry about it. Everything is going to be beautiful, Babydoll!” That’s also what he told me, in the midst of his tour, in my dream.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This past week, I've dreamt about him almost every night. Wherever I am, whomever I’m with, he’s been there. Sometimes tagging along with my family; sometimes he works at whatever place we’re at and appears later. It’s been bizarre and creepy and lovely -- waking up every morning, feeling as if I’ve just seen him and talked with him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I mentioned these dreams to my mom the other day, and she said maybe the dreams mean he’s somewhere, watching over me right now. I laughed and said, if he was somewhere, watching anything this past week, I was sure it would’ve be the March Madness Tournament instead, which he used to LOVE beyond almost anything else.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rational side of me could list off various reasons why he’s tumbled into my subconscious lately, and thus, why he's probably been so present in my dreams. But then there's this other part of me, the part that believes that every dream must mean something. That part wonders, if maybe my mom's (joking) words are right, and maybe he's been sneaking in to check on me, even if just for a few minutes, during half-time! </p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-68847357867755816382011-02-24T12:47:00.000-08:002011-02-24T12:51:30.945-08:00How I Found Kindness Again<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">I read something a few days after the shooting in Tucson. It was an article talking about how to explain the events to children. The psychologist who was being interviewed suggested that parents emphasize that though there are bad people in the world, there are good people, too. More good people, in fact. And because it seemed like a good thing to say, I told this to my children. Did I believe it myself? Sort of. Not really. Maybe?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then a few weeks after the shooting, I was in a Safeway (not <b>the</b> Safeway) but one only a few miles from there, and I was with my son. We were buying only a few things, but very obviously for a birthday party, and the elderly man in front of me in line started asking me and my son questions. When was his birthday? How old was he? My son, well-versed in not talking to strangers, looked at me but didn’t answer, but the man seemed friendly enough, so I did. We started talking, and I learned that his birthday, as well as the birthdays of his numerous brothers and sisters were all the same week as my son’s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we were talking, the cashier was ringing up the man’s order, and just as he was about to pay, the man turned to the cashier and asked him to ring up my order and add it on to his bill. I protested, but he insisted, and the cashier listened. Before I really knew what happened, the elderly man, a perfect stranger, had paid for my things. “You’re all set,” the cashier said to me, motioning me to get out line so he could ring up the woman behind me. The elderly man waved to us, wished my son a happy birthday, told me to take care, and walked out of the store. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What just happened?” My son asked, confused.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That man paid for your balloons,” I told him</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Why?” he asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Because he wanted to do something nice, I guess,” I said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Isn’t that weird?” he asked me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know,” I said. Because honestly, my first inclination was to feel, well, weird about it. Leaving the store, without a receipt, my things paid for by a stranger, I almost felt like I was doing something wrong. But then I wondered, was the thing that was weird was that I was so flabbergasted by kindness?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A few weeks later, Valentine’s Day, I was in Target. I knew it was the last day <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Transformation of Things </i>would be on the shelves there, so impulsively, I threw the last two copies in my cart. As the cashier rang up my things we started talking, and she examined the book as she rang it up. “Do you like to read?” I asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I LOVE to read,” she exclaimed. “I’m always reading.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After she rang up my book, I handed it back to her. “Here you go,” I said, explaining to her what the book was and that I had written it. (Nevermind that I have a bunch of free copies at home or that I didn’t even know her. I’d just bought her book!) She was beyond thrilled and asked me to sign it – I did. And then I gave the other copy to the other cashier, who, it also turned out, loved to read, and was thrilled. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Did they find it as strange as I did when that man paid for my things? Maybe. But I felt pretty good about it as I walked out of the store. Maybe we should all buy things for strangers once in a while. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-78302336716781330892011-01-27T17:08:00.000-08:002011-01-27T17:19:02.518-08:00In Which I Write Something<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Since I am a writer, whenever things happen people always tell me to write about them. But there are some things that are impossible for me to write. Things that defy words. This happened to me a few years ago, when my family asked me to write my grandfather’s eulogy. I wasn’t able to attend his funeral (which happened quickly, across the country, and I had a two-month old at the time). So everyone in my family implored me to write something instead for someone to read. I did. It took me an entire day to come up with two paragraphs. What I wrote was awful. I’m certain. There were no words to really express what I felt or thought or missed, already.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been reminded of that feeling these past few weeks, in the aftermath of the shooting that happened in Tucson. <i>My city.</i> <i>My home. </i>I’ve had the feeling that I should have something to say, that writing something would somehow make things. . . better. Or at least, that it would somehow make me make more sense of them. Writing is, after all, my way of understanding the world. But the truth is, I have written nothing in the past few weeks, not about this, or anything else. I just haven’t been able to.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was in the shopping center where the shooting happened, when it happened. I was having coffee, with a friend, a new friend who I’d met in person for the first time only ten minutes earlier, a friend who I feel I will now forever be connected to. We were talking preschools and our children, and I could see, out the floor to ceiling windows behind her, the front of the Safeway. I had no idea Gabrielle Giffords was having an event outside. (Thank goodness, several people have remarked to me in the past few weeks, or I may have been curious to stop by and meet her. Would I have? I’m not sure.) Though we were probably only about fifty feet away, it was loud enough inside the bakery so that we did not hear the gunshots. We didn’t see them either, since the cars in the Safeway parking lot blocked our view. My first cue that something wasn’t right was when I saw one police car pull into the shopping center, lights flashing, followed a few minutes later by four or five others. I watched as the police officers jumped from their cars, running and pulling things from their trunks. “What do you think is going on behind you?” I asked my friend.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She turned around. We made nervous guesses. Was there a traffic stop? A robbery in the bank in the front of Safeway? Were those more sirens in the distance?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then a man dressed in bike-riding gear ran inside the bakery. “There’s a shooter in the Safeway,” he yelled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We looked at each other. I suggested that we leave. I felt the urge to not just leave but run. If there was a shooter, anywhere in the shopping center, I wanted to get the hell out of there. Fast. We debated it for a minute. Was it safer to leave or stay? My car was right out front. Hers was in the Safeway parking lot. So we decided to both run to my car, and we got in quickly. We had no idea what was going on, but we figured it couldn’t actually be serious, that we were probably silly to leave in such in rush. But we’re both moms and writers, with vivid imaginations.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We noticed police starting to tape off the exits, and she wondered if she maybe she should get her car. I drove her to it, on the edge of the Safeway lot. We still had no idea what was going on, but the decision to run felt like the right one, then. We decided to meet at another coffee shop a few blocks up the road. “If I don’t make it there. Come back and look for me,” she joked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“This is going in one of our next books,” I quipped back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ten minutes later we were sipping coffee in another quiet shopping center. It felt very far away from the police cars, sirens, the rumor of a shooter. It was probably just something silly, we decided. Though, I still felt shaky, and even now I have very little memory of what we talked about in those few moments until a woman ran in and told everyone what had happened. We stared at each other, gripped with shock. Disbelief. Then we couldn’t drink coffee anymore. We left. When I got home, my hands were still shaking; my brain was numb. My children ate lunch and gave me hugs, as if nothing had happened, but suddenly they looked different to me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We’d been so close. And so far away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Unbelievably, this had happened to me once before, nearly 15 years ago. When I was a freshman in college, a mentally deranged woman hid in the bushes on the lawn of my college’s student union, with a rifle. She sat there, early in the morning, in the rain, watching students walk by. On the way back from my 8 AM Spanish class, I was one of them. Shortly after I passed her, she started shooting, and she killed one student and injured another. As a new college freshman, I was struck by how easy it was to die, senselessly, just like that. It is a feeling I’ve never completely gotten over. The kind of thing that every so often, when I remember it, it still makes me uneasy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And when I got home on January 8th, from what was supposed to be an innocent coffee with a new friend, my husband (who was my boyfriend at the time of the college shooting) looked at me, and said (only half-kidding, I’m sure), “How did you manage to do this twice? You’re never leaving the house again.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Looking at my children, something about that didn’t even sound that ridiculous.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I did, of course. Leave the house. And nearly every time I did in the first few days that followed this shooting, I talked to someone who knew one of the killed or injured, somehow. Then I watched these victims on national news, with the knowledge of which of my friends and family knew them, and how. These people were heroes, and also, my neighbors.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first week our local newspaper was overstuffed with triple-sized headlines and articles. Every morning I read them and found myself crying. (I am not, by the way, usually a crier.) But everything felt so personal and sad to me, the way I know it did to so many other people, and not just because I’d drunk coffee nearby or because I live so close (though these things, I’m sure, made everything feel even worse) but because I am a mom, a woman, a human being.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Why don’t you write something about it?</i> Countless people have suggested this to me in the past few weeks. But I think I’ve been afraid to put this into words, to relive it, to make it real. In the past 15 years, I have never once even tried to write something about that shooting at my college. I’ve thought about it. But words have never felt adequate.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s because when I write, I have something to say. And about this, about any of this, I don’t. I have no answers, no way to understand this, no words to make sense of any of it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In writing all of this down, I know I haven’t said anything new or interesting or even important. But I am a writer. So I wrote it anyway.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-87504476790467328362010-12-29T19:03:00.000-08:002011-01-12T19:12:35.687-08:00Target!!!!I'm thrilled to announce that starting this week <i>The Transformation of Things</i> is a Target Emerging authors pick!!!! <div><br /></div><div>A few years back, when I had a newborn in the house, I would often find myself sleep-deprived in the middle of the Target diaper aisle (often with a crying baby in tow). Luckily, the diaper aisle in my Target is located just across from the books, and there were many, many times when I'd swing by the Emerging Authors shelf and pick up a new book just to save my sanity. I was never disappointed!</div><div><br /></div><div>Which is why I'm so honored that<i> The Transformation of Things</i> is sitting on that shelf right now. If you happen to find it there as you stuff your cart with diapers and onesies and diaper genie refills, I hope you enjoy!</div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-20844221704700500132010-11-13T17:09:00.001-08:002010-11-13T17:20:08.187-08:00Books Make Great Holiday Gifts!!It's true, books do make great holiday gifts! Even better gifts are books signed and personalized for a specific friend or family member on your list! <div><br /></div><div>So if you buy yourself a copy of <i>The Transformation of Things </i>between now and December 1st, I will send you another <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">free signed and personalized copy </span>for you to give as a gift to a family member or friend of your choice. All you need to do is:</div><div><br /></div><div>1.) Purchase the book. (Find it easily <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Transformation-Things-Novel-Jillian-Cantor/dp/0061962201/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1289697469&sr=8-1">on Amazon</a> or in person in <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Transformation-of-Things/Jillian-Cantor/e/9780061962202/?itm=2">Barnes & Noble,</a><a href="http://www.borders.com/online/store/TitleDetail?sku=0061962201"> Borders,</a> or nearly any bookstore!)</div><div>2.) E-mail me at jill(at)jilliancantor.com with the specific information about where and when you purchased the book. </div><div>3.) Let me know how you want your <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">fr</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">ee holiday gift book</span> signed and where you want it sent. </div><div><br /></div><div>Could I make your holiday shopping any easier?!</div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-74053832457258397332010-11-01T18:29:00.000-07:002010-11-01T21:12:10.756-07:00Release Day Contest!THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS is out in a few more hours! And to celebrate, I'm holding a contest here. The first 10 people who leave me a comment on this post, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">letting me know that they have purchased THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS will receive another one of Avon A's fabulous titles FOR FREE courtesy of Avon!</span> I'll also throw in a signed <i>The Transformation of Things</i> bookmark! <div><br /></div><div>That's right, if you are one of the first ten people to let me know that you bought <i>The Transformation of Things</i>, Avon will send you another book for free! And I'll send you a pretty signed bookmark :-)<div><br /></div><div>Please include your name, e-mail address (so we can contact you to send your free book), and where you purchased the book in your comment. Or if you'd rather, you can just leave a comment saying you purchased and e-mail the rest of the info. to me at jill(at)jilliancantor.com.</div></div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-39013393312675000292010-11-01T06:29:00.001-07:002010-11-01T10:36:52.211-07:00One More Day!To celebrate the release of THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS tomorrow, Melissa Senate and I are holding a contest today over at my Facebook author page! <a href="http://www.facebook.com/authorjilliancantor">Click here</a> to head over there, or if you're already Facebook friends with me, you can find it there as well. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment. One grand prize winner will win a signed copy of THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS and a signed copy of the fabulous Melissa Senate's new release THE LOVE GODDESS' COOKING SCHOOL. Two other winners will each win one of the two books. The contest ends at midnight tonight, just in time for me to start my amazing release day contest tomorrow right here on this blog. (Check back tomorrow for details!).Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-60972026832037850582010-10-26T06:35:00.000-07:002010-10-26T06:44:05.473-07:00Contest!THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS will be out one week from today!! In honor of my launch and the launch of <a href="http://www.melissasenate.com/">Melissa Senate'</a>s new book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-Goddess-Cooking-School/dp/1439107238/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1288067781&sr=8-1">THE LOVE GODDESS' COOKING SCHOOL</a>, Melissa and I will be holding two joint contests -- one today for her release day, and one next week for mine. <div><br /></div><div>It's easy to enter, all you need to do today is leave a comment for Melissa on her <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MelissaSenate">Facebook page</a>. One grand prize winner (announced tomorrow) will win copies of both books, and two runners up will each receive a copy of one of our books. I'll post the details for my launch day contest next week!</div><div><br /></div><div>And more contests and some fun guest blog posts coming up later this week. Stay tuned. . .!</div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-71184624883960747572010-09-06T12:35:00.000-07:002010-09-06T16:39:42.245-07:00News & Upcoming Events<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS is out in less than two months, and I have some good news to update you on! First, I got my first review from </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Booklist</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> and it was a nice one, saying, "Cantor puts a unique spin on this tale of a woman in transition."</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS is also going to be a featured alternate during the holidays in </span><a href="http://www.doubledaybookclub.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The Doubleday Book Club</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> and will be available in the online club at </span><a href="http://www.bomc2.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">BOMC2</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">. I'm so, so, so excited for this book to come out and thrilled that you guys will be able to find it here!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And, if you're in the Tucson area, I'll be doing a reading, signing and talk with Janni Lee Simner and Adam Rex on September 24th at Antigone Bookstore. The press release is below. Hope to see you there!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Please join us for an upcoming event at Antigone Books </span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Friday </span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">September 24 at 7 PM: </span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Join us for a fabulous event for teens, aspiring writers, teachers and librarians with three local authors: Jillian Cantor, Adam Rex and Janni Lee Simner.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Janni Lee Simner</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">will read from</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thief Eyes</span></span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Random House, $16.99). In this intense new fantasy, 16-year-old Haley accompanies her geologist father to Iceland, where she's determined to discover exactly what happened the previous year when her mother disappeared. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Adam Rex</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">will read from</span></span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Fat Vampire</span></span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Harper, $16.99). In this delightfully macabre spoof on the current vampire craze, Doug Lee is a 15 year-old overweight vampire and will be for eternity. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Jillian Cantor</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">will read from</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Life of Glass </span></span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Harper, $16.99). High-school freshman Melissa's beloved father has recently died of cancer, leaving her struggling to find her way and learning how to come to terms with her grief without giving up her memories of him.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The reading will be followed by a question and answer period.<br />Refreshments will be served.<br /></span></span></b></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Antigone Books</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">411 N. 4th Avenue</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tucson, AZ 85705</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(520) 792-3715</span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-2075770601608957172010-08-06T13:37:00.000-07:002010-08-06T13:50:00.968-07:00Remember Me?Why yes, it has been an embarrassingly long time since I've posted anything to this blog. And yes, I am still here. And yes, I do have an excuse for my absence. Sort of. I've been writing. A lot. Hard at work on two different books that hopefully, I'll be able to tell you more about in the near future. And when I'm writing fiction, it's hard for me to think about writing (or reading) anything else. If you think this blog had been horribly neglected, you should see my to-be-read pile, aka those enormous leaning towers of books in the space that used to occupy my night table.<br /><br />But anyway, I've finally come up for some air, and I've realized that it is less than three months until THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS comes out! And in the spirit of transformation, I've decided to start a new blog, in which I transform myself, do a sort of negativity detox if you will. I hope you'll follow along because I'm hoping it'll be a fun and maybe even funny journey for me over the next few months. As my mom said when I sent her the link -- "How will you *ever* be able to find that many things to be positive about?" If nothing else, I love to prove my mom wrong!<br /><br />If you become a follower of my new blog (<a href="http://www.thetransformationofthings.blogspot.com/">click here</a>) -- I'll enter you to win a signed ARC of THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS. I'll pick a winner next Friday!<br /><br />In the meantime, I'll still be blogging about writing/author related news over. Yes, I promise. I really will!Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-56170573492690066102010-03-27T14:45:00.000-07:002010-03-27T14:48:39.813-07:00Coming Soon. . .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySVOdHKw1pZQOt2jvAm6gTur62qRgtRNhF_sHcOo2MM_tRcsNCRUMXvecskv7yacvLlZI8my9VeA-EZGV7pDMdHSDIgBGHJAXvpAo3jqGe5SX0iM8DVk1GHE6FjFjun7xFyCbYkSsK_Mg/s1600/Transformation+Of+Things+Cover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453433324477172866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySVOdHKw1pZQOt2jvAm6gTur62qRgtRNhF_sHcOo2MM_tRcsNCRUMXvecskv7yacvLlZI8my9VeA-EZGV7pDMdHSDIgBGHJAXvpAo3jqGe5SX0iM8DVk1GHE6FjFjun7xFyCbYkSsK_Mg/s320/Transformation+Of+Things+Cover.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The cover for my adult debut, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Transformation-Things-Novel-Jillian-Cantor/dp/0061962201/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1269726485&sr=8-5">THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS </a>-- out 11/2/10 from Avon/HarperCollins!Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-31582931475226774362010-02-28T19:37:00.000-08:002010-02-28T19:46:28.676-08:00Changing Hands SigningYesterday, I did a signing at the fabulous <a href="http://changinghands.com/">Changing Hands Bookstore</a> in Tempe, AZ, where I got to meet some really great Phoenix area readers, including the very cool blogger,<a href="http://www.iheartmonster.com/"> I Heart Monster.</a> I didn't realize it at the time, but she recorded my reading, and she did an awesome job. So if you weren't able to be there, you can watch her video. I talk a little bit about THE LIFE OF GLASS and read three short sections from the book.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9796574&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9796574&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/9796574">Jillian Cantor Book Signing Event</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3170348">I Heart Monster</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-4306162356974459782010-02-15T12:31:00.000-08:002010-02-15T12:37:32.504-08:00Blog Tour Giveaway WinnersThank you so much to everyone who entered my blog tour contest! I enjoyed all of your e-mails, and it was so nice to hear that so many people are looking forward to reading the book!!<br /><br />I used random.org to help me select the winners, and if you are one of the winners you should have received an e-mail from me. Please respond so I can get you your prizes.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">The Grand Prize Winner of signed copies of THE LIFE OF GLASS & THE SEPTEMBER SISTERS & Two Glass Spirit Stones is:</span> <span style="color:#ff0000;">Kate of The Neverending Shelf</span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">The two runners up, both winners of a signed copy of THE LIFE OF GLASS are: </span><span style="color:#ff0000;">Carol M. and Leann</span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Congrats to all the winners!!</span>Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-10711151065081978332010-01-24T15:58:00.000-08:002010-01-24T16:08:40.621-08:00The Good and The BadTHE LIFE OF GLASS will be out in just over two weeks, which means two things for me right now: One, my blog tour & awesome blog tour contest start to-morrow!!, and two, I’m in the midst of prime review time for the book. This means nearly every time I open up my e-mail I’ve been seeing another Google alert with yet another review on there.<br /><br /><a href="http://jilliancantor.blogspot.com/2009/12/first-review.html">I’ve blogged before about reviews</a>, about how waiting for that first one is one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve gone through as a writer. And I’m not sure it’ll ever get any easier for me. This is my second book, so I’ve been through this once before (doesn’t matter, still not any easier.)<br /><br />I’ve been really fortunate to have received a good number of glowing reviews for THE LIFE OF GLASS so far, including, some gorgeous pre-publication blurbs from <a href="http://beth-kephart.blogspot.com/">Beth Kephart</a> and <a href="http://www.ceciliagalante.com/">Cecilia Galante</a>, very, very nice reviews from both Kirkus and Booklist, a review from <a href="http://www.bookpage.com/books.php?id=10012861">BookPage</a> that was so beautiful it made me cry, and, just today, amazing reviews from both <a href="http://www.thecompulsivereader.com/2010/01/life-of-glass-by-jillian-cantor.html">The Compulsive Reader</a> and <a href="http://shelfelf.wordpress.com/2010/01/24/the-life-of-glass/">The Shelf Elf</a>.<br /><br />And yet, I have also seen one or two that are not so glowing. I understand that not everyone is going to like my book, and honestly, I’m okay with that. There are plenty of books I love that other people don’t and vice versa. But it is still hard to read and brush it off and forget about it, because even if I get 50 glowing reviews and one bad one, it’s the bad one that sticks in my head far longer. Why is that?<br /><br />I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because a book, words, something I created is, in a way, a part of me. Every compliment feels personal, and every negative comment, even more so. Or maybe it’s some sort of deep seeded insecurity – I hang onto these negative comments, this little voice in the back of my head wondering, wondering, could it be . . . right?<br /><br />One thing every author knows is that we can’t (or we shouldn’t) respond to negative reviews, and I don’t. Ever. Which is sometimes hard when I see things written about my books that are just plain factually inaccurate or completely misread. Which is hard because sometimes a book feels like a child, who you might want to defend (even if you should really just let them battle it out on the playground themselves.). It’s hard because, also, deep down, don’t we really all crave positive feedback? Don’t we all want people to like us, to like anything that’s a part of us?<br /><br />My point is, I guess, that having a book come out, being in the midst of all these reviews is like being on a merry-go-round with constant ups and downs and highs and lows. There are moments when I read a review so lovely that it brings tears to my eyes, and moments where I read things that just make me feel pretty awful.<br /><br />Someone recently suggested to me that I just stop looking, that I turn off the Google alerts and just look away. I have other things to do. Other books to write and revise. But I can’t stop looking. Good or bad, I feel like I need to know.<br /><br />The funny thing is, I did not sit down and intend to write this post. I intended to write about my blog tour (the details of which, I will, I’m certain, bombard you with over the next three weeks!) But just before I opened up my blog, I logged onto Goodreads, and there I saw some new reviews and ratings of both THE SEPTEMBERS SISTERS and THE LIFE OF GLASS. And there I felt compelled to check them out. And there I saw that someone who I knew in high school – not someone who was a friend or an enemy but just an acquaintance -- gave one of my books a low rating. She is, of course, entitled to her opinion. But as she left only a rating and not a review, I began to wonder, why she didn’t like the book? Or, was it me she didn’t like – had she hated me back in high school and I hadn’t known? Did I ever really talk to her in high school? I couldn’t remember.<br /><br />Coming up in the next three weeks, you’ll be able to read a bunch of interviews and guest posts and reviews of THE LIFE OF GLASS, and you can learn a lot about me and how I came to write this particular book and what’s up next for me as a writer and how I feel about beauty. But today I give you this, a glimpse into what’s going on in my head, as my book is about to journey into the world.Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927763540926685849.post-64027848759187557302010-01-18T18:23:00.000-08:002010-01-18T18:37:23.728-08:00Upcoming EventsTHE LIFE OF GLASS will be out in three short weeks, and, if you've noticed my absence from this blog it's because I've been literally swamped working on promotional materials, interview questions, and oh yeah, revising two other books that I've got in the works! But I've got a lot of exciting things coming up that I wanted to take a moment to share.<br /><br />On January 25th (next Monday) I kick off my three-week blog tour, starting with an interview over at <a href="http://www.laurenscrammedbookshelf.blogspot.com/">Lauren's Crammed Bookshelf</a>. You can find the complete tour schedule on the left sidebar or on my website <a href="http://www.jilliancantor.com/Events.htm">here</a>. In addition to having some great interviews and guest posts during the three weeks, I'll also be running a cool blog-tour contest where you'll have the chance to win signed copies of my books and fun prizes!<br /><br />If you're in Arizona, I'll be doing a bunch of in-person events starting in February (<a href="http://www.jilliancantor.com/Events.htm">Click here </a>for the complete schedule.) And here's the invitation to my B&N signing on 2/20. If you're in Tucson I hope to see you there!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428272683209799922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 253px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBkNfFIVdqkWbICSGJ_wzIEP0cJysoveOvQAMyfaQKNak7xud0liG9EAgIG9-SNcvFK6IUNGecpXaDjHnDi7dS9SeWsVZ3ifSUlEA5nYm6uE8W0k1WEb-H9CRSQy4akZ4dTDB0cCpEMv7f/s320/Life+of+Glass+flyer+3.jpg" border="0" />Jillian Cantorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02743542300208625589noreply@blogger.com0