AletheaKontis.com

My Twitter account was just suspended.
I have no idea why.
I sent them an email and now….HEY! Now it’s back! Wonder how long this will last? And why it was done in the first place?

Stop messing with me already.
Really.

Apex Book Company has a really cool lottery going on right now — including this one for a bunch of my books and some bonus swag.

One ticket for $1.00 — ten tickets for $8.00. Go on. You have a dollar. I know you do.
(Did I mention all the books are signed?)

Jason is also adamant about leaving up my pin-up girl shot (the one I used to have on my Twitter profile). Which is totally fine with me. But he is NOT allowed to put it on the Apex calendar. Nope. No way, mister. I don’t care how persuasive you think you are.

I like this one from yesterday of me and my new friend author Ally Carter:

You are now ded from cuteness. Ur welcome.

Not this Elvis:

THIS Elvis:

I’m amazed I a.) got a decent picture and b.) managed to take anything at all before the Ryman Camera Nazis descended. They were in rare form last night. So was Elvis…during every second of his 90-minute encore. We just about "one more song"ed him to death.

Welcome to Nashville.

More soon. But first, enjoy this lovely Snow Patrol cover by my new favorite Indie band, Starling Crush.

Hypericon 5 pics are live here.

"Oh, I’m so glad she’s pretty. Next to being beautiful oneself–and that’s impossible in my case–it would be best to have a beautiful bosom friend."
~Anne of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery

Blush and Bashful, a.k.a "Pink & Pink"

Sunday, May 31, 2009

My feet were killing me. I lost a ridiculous amount of sleep because my left ankle in particular kept waking me up. Mary had fixed me a cold, Epsom salt foot bath when we’d gotten home from dinner with Ellen and Esther, but instead of dumping it out I had left it by the bedside. I soaked my feet when I woke up at 3am, and then again at 7am. I needed to make a decision — sneakers with arch and ankle support…or the fancy dress and cute shoes I had planned on? I was still doing business — Brooke and Tim at Dorchester had invited me to brunch that day. I know they love me no matter what I’m wearing…but if I was going to show up at the convention, I needed to Own It. I had packed the dress and the shoes. I could carry my sneakers in a tote in case of dire emergency. I could do this. I could hack it.

I walked as little of the floor as I could, saying my goodbyes…but I didn’t last very long. Finally I splurged on a seven-dollar frappuccino and sat down at the large tables by the door. I texted Tim to confess my surrender, in case they wanted to head out early. Even sitting still I managed to run into a friend who plopped down beside me and helped me pass the time. Brooke and Tim breezed up and I introduced them. Tim promised me a cab to Times Square. I love that man. Brooke sort of winced slightly, and I braced myself for her news.

"I hope you don’t mind…we’ve invited someone along to brunch."

I smiled in that oh sh*t, stay beautiful way I’ve mastered.

"Remember that author we were talking about for a Genre Chicks interview? Leanna Renee Hieber? I sold you her book The Strangely Beutiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker." I did remember. I really love that title. "I didn’t think you’d mind — you’ll totally love her. She’s just like you."

I’m not sure about you, but I hear this sort of thing a lot. Sometimes it turns out to be true. Sometimes it doesn’t. Brooke knows me pretty darn well, so I can trust her judgment. But she’s also a pretty darn good saleswoman, which left wiggle room for doubt. Either way, there was no way I was changing into those sneakers any time soon. I was walking back into the windy NYC spring day with my silky Marilyn Monroe handkerchief skirt, and I was going to remain "on" for a few more hours. I could hack it. Besides. This Leanna chick could turn out to be cool.

Three-quarters of the way into one of the most amazing brunches of all time, Leanna and I had made it through Goth-wear, Harry Potter, our mutual affection for Alan Rickman and Zachary Quinto, some OMG DOCTOR WHO! fangirl squeeing over David Tennant, comic books, and the Nick Cave anthology. We even exchanged websites for quality bookmark printing. Sometime in the middle of dissecting Star Trek 2009 (which we’d both seen twice), we started finishing each other’s sentences. There weren’t a whole lot of breaths taken, unless we were stuffing our faces with the delicious offerings from Ruby Foo’s. Tim and Brooke spent most of the brunch watching our rapid-fire discourse with fascination.

Tim leaned in to Brooke. "I think maybe we did a little too well."

We ordered dessert, despite being stuffed, because hello, it’s dessert. Brooke and I opted to share some kind of rhubarb crumble, Tim got a big fat chocolate cake (Tim doesn’t like to share), and Leanna went with the pineapple sorbet. So when the waiter brought a huge slice of Red Velvet cake to the table, we all looked a little confused. He apologized, and then brought the correct desserts. After we’d been served, he brought the slice of Red Velvet back over.

"My mistake," he said. "Since it’s already been plated, you’re welcome to it." He slid it onto the table between me and Brooke.

"Go on, then," Leanna drawled. "Pass me some of that bleeding armadillo groom’s cake."

From Doctor Who to Steel Magnolias in under 10 seconds, and we never missed a beat. That’s when I knew…it was true love.

**********************************************************************************************

Leanna’s website: click here.
Follow Leanna on Twitter: click here.
Preorder The Strangely Beautiful Take of Miss Percy Parker: click here
Check out the book’s trailer:

(Due to the sheer awesomeness that was "Alethea’s Adventures at BEA 2009, andWhat She Found There", I will begin at the end and go on until I come to the beginning. Because I am the princess and I said so.)

**********************************************

The Friendly Skies
Monday June 1, 2009

It’s been said — and I’ve mentioned it before myself — that "the point of the journey is not to arrive." Well…that’s crap, really, isn’t it? Of course the point of the journey is your destination, or there wouldn’t have been a journey in the first place. Arrival is simply the period at the end of the sentence. But if all you’re concentrating on is the punctuation, you’ve definitely missed something.

While in Charleston with my sister over Memorial Day weekend, Sami and I did a spot of shopping — just enough to make it worth our while but not completely nauseous (a distaste for so-called "retail therapy" is genetic, apparently). See…now that I’m brazen enough to slap pictures of myself all over the internet, I feel pressured to constantly add to my wardrobe to prevent all of you from suffering from the crazy delusion that I’m a Smurfette with only one nice dress. So I bought some fun things–a few you’ll see in the BEA pics, a couple you’ll see during Hypericon, and one I’ve saved for when I get nominated for an Oscar.

I also purchased what quickly became my new favorite shirt: a brown babydoll tee that reads: "faith hope love" in gold across the chest. (This has a point, I promise. It’s not just 3000 words about clothes. Bear with me.) This shirt cried out to me, appealing to my inner six-year-old, the one who used to lock herself in the bathroom with a tape recorder and give inspirational speeches that begged everyone in the world to love each other, be happy, and "ho, mo, and grow" (I still haven’t decided what "ho, mo, and grow" means, but it was important enough for me to repeat. A lot).

While at BEA, I picked up a button that said "HAPPY" and wore it on my badge until I lost it. Some people wear their heart on their sleeves; I suppose I have a tendency to wear my feelings on my chest.

As those of you who follow my FB/Twitter already know, I opted for the pretty dress/cute shoes every day of BEA weekend — and I’m currently wearing the band-aids to prove it. By the time Monday rolled around, I was overjoyed to slide into my crumpled jeans and that soft brown t-shirt. (I am now compelled to find a button that says "OVERJOYED.") Mary and I went for a walk around the Upper West Side, stopped for breakfast, and dropped far too much cash at Bank Street Books. (One of my favorite children’s authors is Arnold Lobel. Not only did Bank Street have some of the Frog and Toad books in hardcover, they had Frog and Toad in PLUSH. How was I supposed to pass that up? Exactly.)

Mary’s done her share of traveling, so she knew right where and when I needed to catch the M60 bus back to Laguardia in time to check myself in and get settled. My suitcase full of books managed to squeak by just under the weight limit (yes!) and there was zero line at security, so I had plenty of time to sit back and relax before flying back to Nashville (via Charlotte again). I wandered over and bought a Snapple and some dark chocolate with almonds, found a comfy spot in front of the window, and cracked open Frog and Toad Are Friends.

Okay, yeah. I suppose any thirtysomething girl with braided pigtails and a cute hat sitting crosslegged at the end of a row of chairs eating chocolate and giggling into a Caldecott Honor book is just asking to be approached. When some guy tapped me on the shoulder, I turned and smiled at him…mostly because he had had the courtesy to let me finish reading my book before he interrupted me.

"Hi, sorry," he said. "This may sound a little strange but…well, I noticed your shirt….and it looks like you enjoy books, and reading…"

(Okay….this essay’s getting a bit long — but I promise, it’s totally worth it. For LJ folks, the rest is behind the cut.)