About the Book

Life Is Brilliant.

About The Not-So-Nice List (previously titled Seriously Serendipity), a young adult novel :

A third place finalist in the Maryland Romance Writers' 2008 Reveal Your Inner Vixen contest, my novel also placed second in the New York City Romance Writers' 2008 Love and Laughter contest. The screenplay received an Honorable Mention in 2009's Writer's Digest 78th Annual Writer's Competition in the Television/Movie Script category.

    All Camille Hunter did was ask the mall Santa for a little help in finding her Grandma Ella the perfect someone--some wonderful guy to take care of her. make her laugh, and maybe, just maybe, put that twinkle Camille loves so much back into her eyes. It's been missing ever since Grandpa John died.
    But what does Santa do about her wish? He sails into town and has a heart attack chasing after her grandma himself, instead. Mr. Claus wasn't exactly the perfect and wonderful someone Camille had in mind, though. After all, he 's dragged along his grandson, Alex, a pompous dork who actually dons polyester dress socks. On purpose.
    Camille has much bigger problems ahead of her, though. Problems like the fact that Grandma Ella seems to like Santa back. A LOT. Problems like Santa claiming to be the real deal who has to return to the North Pole before Christmas Eve to recover. Huge problems like he's asked Ella and Camille to come back with him.
      Camille's mortified, of course. Nothing could possibly squash a girl's social life like being stranded in the tundra with a dork and a pair of love-sick grandparents. Nothing. But then none of this was what she'd quite had in mind when she'd made her Christmas wish...

About Tipping The Scale Of Suckocity, a young adult novel:

Well, it's official. Alli Oldfield's life has tipped the Scale of Suckocity. But then being fired by one's own parents over a tragic work-related mini-golfing incident involving hot dogs and a gaping costume can do that to one's life—especially when only the coolest clique that ever walked her school's hallways witnesses it.

Sick of being labeled a dorker-ly loser, Alli seizes a chance to work at Surf Land water park. So what if it’s her parents’ competition? That's where all the cool kids work, including cool kids like Derek Lansing. When he asks her out, she's sure her life-changing plan can't fail.

There's just one teensy, little problem: her plan is failing. It's bad enough when she pukes in the kiddie pool. (With that weak stomach of hers, she should never have worked in a water park. Never.) Now things are beyond strained with her parents. Her best friend, Jeff, is weirding out. Worse, she's sabotaging her relationships with both boys, probably because she doesn't feel so great about herself. Talk about sucktastic.

So what's a girl to do? Well, all she has to do is figure out how to really fix her life this time. If she can only get her priorities in check and give in to all this growing up stuff, Alli just might turn her summer into one that scores a solid ten on the Scale of Fabu-freakin'-lousity.

Excerpt from No One Cares, a memoir-in-progress:

Here is what I know:

1. I've worn the wrong underwear. Cotton, its elastic has been stretched beyond usefulness, and it's sliding both up my ass and down it, simultaneously. Under normal circumstances, I might have found this compelling, maybe even miraculous. But all I can do is shift in my plastic seat, which is hard and unforgiving, and look helplessly for the nearest women's room, all while wondering how appropriate it would be to meet with my son's doctors pantiless.

2. A lone drop of sweat is sliding down my back, curving around my shoulder blade, and skipping down my spine. It's heading for my underwear that not only doesn't fit but will now also be damp with perspiration. If asked to choose between the seat, the underwear, and the sweat bead edging ever closer to them as to which was most distressing, I'd have to go with my shoes. I think I'm getting a blister on my heal.

3. The blonde woman, who's sitting by the cracked, red slide, is openly glaring at me. She, out of all those who've been packed into this waiting room at Children's Hospital, has been the most obvious in her disgust. Her distaste. As I helplessly watch my son pick up a dump truck and smack her toddler over the head with it, again, I have to empathize with her. At best, I can't meet her eyes.

Anyway, my point? Just that what I know--all I know--is that I am in a very uncomfortable place, in every way. What I don't know is the why.