Give me YA any day—although I cross all lines of genre, age, and interest. After more years than I care to reveal, my prolific endeavors may—let me repeat that—may be on the way to success. If adversity teaches us to grow, I should be ten feet tall by now. Instead of five feet two inches. But enough about me. Growing up we had this grocery store chain, the A&P. Never did know what those initials meant. Artichokes & Plums? Anchovies & Persimmons? Whatever. At this point I’m go

Tomorrow is my birthday. I’m not too hung up on age, or shape, or the color of my hair. But there’s not a whole lot of literary happy in the celebration, because it marks yet another 365 days when I haven’t reached my publishing goals. I have a vision of me in a few years (eons, centuries, millennia?), pushing a walker with a canvas bag attached to the handle, loaded with my books to peddle. While I mutter around my clicking false teeth, “Want a nice young adult novel, Sonny?

Of Tatas and Tats/ @LaurelHouck As a young teen, I spent countless forevers bemoaning my bra size, feeling like a total boob…or lack thereof. I resorted to drawing in cleavage with an eyebrow pencil. I ordered (in a plain brown wrapper) a pink device to squeeze while I muttered, “I must, I must, I must increase my bust.” I soon discovered boys didn’t really care. There were other parts that interested them even more. But I digress. As spring has morphed into summer, that res