And… if you “like” the Sarah Ockler Facebook page, you can read the first 2 chapters of BITTERSWEET right now!

First, let’s meet Marty:

Marty would rather spend recess catching frogs in the pond than playing dress-up with the other girls in third grade. So when her teacher casts Marty as the princess in the class play, Marty’s absolutely, positively sure that there’s been a huge mistake! But after a special lesson in the art of improvisation, Marty comes up with her own plan to improve the play. Why use a stuffed-animal frog onstage when a live one would be so much better?

In the end, Marty’s one-of-a-kind performance makes for an unforgettable show. Maybe Marty can live happily ever after, after all!

I loved Kate’s THE BRILLIANT FALL OF GIANNA Z and SUGAR & ICE, so MARTY MCGUIRE is going to the top of my list.

In celebration of Marty’s debut, Kate asks: “So… isn’t that at the heart of third grade? Improvising? Trying out new things (and winging it when something unexpected happens)?” In response, she’s encouraging us to dust off the archives and share a third grade memory of our own.

I’m sure I had a right colorful time of it (and Mom probably has the pictures to prove it), but only one event stands out in my mind as quintessential third grade moment…

Monster Cookie Malfunction

Eight years old. Feathered bangs. Future bride of Michael Jackson. Yep, it was the eighties, and I was ready to take on the world. Or at least the classroom. My teacher, Mr. Vuich (pronounced vyoo-itch), had a full beard but a gentle manner and an endless collection of pink ties, pink shirts, and yes, even pink pants. You could call him a trailblazer and you wouldn’t be wrong. I thought he was super old, like fifty, but he was probably only marginally old, like thirty.

Mr. Vuich was always planning clever little non-lame school activities for us which, as a creative person-in-training, I totally appreciated. One morning during Halloween season (yeah, it’s a whole season when you’re that age), Mr. V. surprised us with a new twist on the craft closet:

“Class, today we’re going to make…” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, at least that’s how I remember it, so, wait for it, “…monster cookies! Yeah!”

Yeah is right. Monster cookies? Yeah, yeah, hella-yeah!

Our wily brood spent the entire morning making sugar cookie cutouts in the likeness of our favorite scary monsters. And of course by scary I mean deformed, but you know, we were only eight. We put them on trays and then picked out our planned decorations from the sugary buffet before us. There was frosting — white, pink, yellow, and blue, but I swiped some additional red and blue food coloring to hand-tint my own special shade of screaming purple. There were black and red licorice ropes for hair, M&Ms and gum drops for eyes, candy corn which nobody liked but made the best pointy noses, and raisins which no one touched because Brian Sours (real name) told us they were dead flies with the wings pulled off, which unleashed a slew of “Hey Brian Sours, can we use your face as a scary monster mold?” jokes.

All in all, it was a great idea. Score one for Mr. V.!

He loaded trays of our raw cookies on an AV cart and shipped them to some mysterious place for baking — probably the school cafeteria which was filthy and smelled like Spaghettios — and then sent us out to the playground with another class for fifteen to eighteen minutes.

Sadly, during those precious few minutes, all of our monstrous hopes and dreams were dashed on the sad rocks of reality.

We returned from the playground, rosy cheeked and eager to decorate or creations. But as we filed into our seats, we noticed the classroom did not smell of fresh baked monster.

Mr. Vuich perched his pink-panted little bottom on his desk and sighed.

“I have good news and bad news,” he said. “The bad news is… our monster cookies burnt.”

Nearly thirty years later, I haven’t forgotten those four little words, the utter defeat in his voice, the guilt in his eyes, the despair on his shoulders like a yoke. The class gave a collective gasp. Mr. Vuich slumped further. And then he rose, crossing to the back of the room where a row of Super Duper (real name) grocery bags glistened on a windowsill in the high afternoon sun. Well, they more likely just stood there not doing anything because they were still brown paper back then, which doesn’t glisten. But in my mind they glisten.

“The good news is that we can improvise.” Mr. V. fanned his arms out over the stash, a smile finding its way home to his face. “I picked up some graham crackers and marshmallows, and even though we can’t cook them, we can still decorate and eat them. Yeah!”

Yeah is right. Yeah, yeah, hella-yeah! We spent the rest of the afternoon decorating and eating. Trading and eating some more. And laughing, because monster grahams? Win!

I still remember my square-headed, purple-faced monster grahams. And I still remember Mr. Vuich and how he saved the day with a little improvisation and quick thinking. That was probably one of the best lessons he ever taught us. So Mr. Vuich, if you’re still out there, I hope you know that I never forgot that. And I hope you’re still rockin’ those pink pants.

And readers? I hope you’ll check out more third grade antics, improvisation, and of course, charm in Kate’s new release, MARTY MCGUIRE! If you have your own third grade story to share, head on over to Kate’s blog for more details on how you can enter to win a signed copy of her latest book.

By the way, does anyone else want a monster graham now? I totally want to make them…

(No watermelon’s were harmed in the making of this video. But I was. Seriously. Scarred is more like it!)

*Drumroll*

A cupcake bar! A cupcake bar!

*Dies at the thought of it*

It just opened last weekend, and I went there tonight with Alex, my brother Scott, and his girlfriend, Alanna.

OMG YUM!

*Dies again*

Here… I brought some cupcakes back for the ninjas. You deserve them! Enjoy!

Lavender cupcake with lavender buttercream frosting: The flavor took me a minute to get used to. I love the smell of lavender, but I’m used to smelling it in soaps and lotions and girly bath stuff. But once I got over that, this was quite delish!

Peanut butter cupcake with chocolate buttercream frosting, peanut butter Captain Crunch, and chocolate chips: Sadly, I wasn’t quick enough to taste this one. Pet monster… he ated it!

Spicy chocolate cupcake with orange chocolate ganache and pink confetti hearts: NomNomNom. I love spicy chocolate anything, orange chocolate anything, and pink hearts are just the icing on the… icing!

Now I must speak with Zilly immediately about creating custom Twenty Boy Summer cupcakes for a party. Actually I just want more Zillycakes. That’s why I’m having a party.

“The sun! The sun!”

It’s been in the high 60s and 70s for almost a month, and recently my husband Alex has taken to motivating us (read: standing at the end of the bed and pulling on my feet, bribing me with coffee and sweet-talk, and generally cajoling me in the nicest way as he can manage) to get up and walk every morning, right after coffee and a light breakfast (that was my rule) but before diving into work.

I’ve got to hand it to him. He’s persistent. He doesn’t cave in to my irrationality. And I can be quite a challenge *cough* stubborn pig-headed pain in the ass who would have been the last one standing on the Titanic deck just to prove a point if someone told me to jump before I felt like it *cough*, especially pre-coffee. Seriously, I pretty much whine about it every time. I’ve got work to do! I’m tired! I’m dizzy with starvation! My knee hurts! My eyebrows have bedhead!

But he persists, and I go along with it. Partly because I’m afraid one morning he really will get the ice water. Mostly because I don’t want to cause him any more stress than living with me already causes *grin*… but the funny thing is, as soon as I get outside, I STFU, because I realize I’m super glad to be there. Yep. It’s all very “Sunshine! Oh how I’ve missed you!”

So I’ve been appreciating these little walking tours for exposing me to sunshine and *gasp* exercise and allowing us to more fully explore the neighborhood we inhabited just before winter set in last year. After spending like 6 months under a blanket of snow and slush and ice, shut in with the rest of the crazies in this city, I was beginning to question our judgment (hey, it happens, okay?). But now that it’s spring, it’s like someone has breathed a whole new life into Buffalo — and into me!

*Runs barefoot through the meadow for effect*

Elmwood Village Fangirling

Can I just take a moment to give a huge shout out to our neighborhood? Specifically:

• Delaware Park, with its green grass and weeping willows and rose garden and lake! Next up: touring Forest Lawn cemetery, which is part of the park.
• Dolci, a sweets and bakery place I almost wish I hadn’t discovered. Try the fudge covered macaroons or the Mexican wedding cakes. *Drools*
• Victorians. The homes around here are old (like over 100-120 years old) and beautiful, with crazy features and windows and woodwork and probably secret passageways. Some are even bright pink or purple, because when you have an amazing old Victorian, you can get away with stuff like that. I love walking up and down random streets and checking them out.
• Gardens. Many people around here participate in Garden Walk Buffalo at the end of July, so we get to see all of the colorful gardens coming to life around us, right in front of those big old Victorains. <3 Flowers! *Must remember camera on tomorrow’s walk*
• Trees. In October of 2006, Buffalo was hit with a freak snowstorm before most of the leaves had fallen from the trees. Snow and ice coated the trees, and the leaves got soaked and made it all much heavier, causing many limbs to snap under the weight. The city, including Delaware Park and the streets of our neighborhood, suffered loss or damage of 90% of its trees. You can still see the broken tree limbs on the survivors, but the good thing is, there were survivors, and new trees have also been planted along many of the sidewalks. So I love seeing the trees in spring, all of the new growth, and the pink and white blooms on all of the flowering trees around here. <3 Trees!
• Ethnic food. I love India Gate, Saigon Cafe, Mythos — and they’re all just a few minutes’ walk. We haven’t tried Wasabi yet, and I’m still on the lookout for a great Italian place close by, but we’ve got our faves covered for now. And yeah, don’t even get me started on those bakeries and coffee shops and other dangerous dens of food iniquity!
• Puppies and babies. Altogether now… “Awwwwww!” Yep, wherever we walk, puppies and babies abound, both equally happy to be out in the sun. They’re all so cute, so adorable, so much fun to ogle from a safe and non-responsible distance.
• The farmer’s market. The Elmwood-Bidwell Farmer’s Market starts up again soon. I can’t wait to check it out. I could never seem to wake up in time to catch it last year. Now that Alex has appointed himself commander of Operation Get Wife’s Ass Out of Bed Before Sundown and Make Her Walk, we might actually stand a chance at scoping out the zucchini and blueberries before the farmers pack them up for the day.

Yeah, I think we’re going to be okay up here in Buffalo, now that things are thawing out. I’ll bring the camera out next time so I can show you what I’m talking about. I know, I know… without photographic evidence, all you non-Buffalonians totally don’t believe me when I tell you we really do have nice weather here. But we do! Just not from October to April. Other than that, it’s perfect!

So tell me… what’s spring like where you live? What do you love most about it?

APRIL FOOLS!

Judging from the intense commentary here and on Josh’s various Web sites, this one was even more convincing than the circa 1987 prank in which brother #1 and I locked brother #2 in the basement and told him Freddy Krueger was down there. Poor kid still can’t watch Nightmare on Elm Street, and he’s 25 years old now! Thankfully Josh was in on today’s gag, so the momentary burden of my guilt at upsetting all of you can be equally shared.

Next, on authors behaving badly…

Since I’ve completely risked (and possibly ruined) my reputation as a mentally stable writer (*cough* oxymoron! *cough*) with this little stunt, I’d like to tell you all, if you can’t tell already, that I absolutely heart Josh Berk (almost as much as I heart veggie burgers). He’s one of the funniest authors I know, and I encourage all of you—regardless of your food orientation²—to check out his blog and watch for THE DARK DAYS OF HAMBURGER HALPIN in January of 2010. I’m hoping Josh will stop by for an interview soon, once he’s done mopping up the buckets of sympathy tears this post has earned him.

(Josh, please tell them I’m not an issue-laden psycho… *whimpers gently as a kitten* *offers tofu hot dogs*)

Psychos and kittens (and psycho kittens who eat tofu hot dogs) aside, happy April Fools to all of you! Oh, you all know that the whole Gmail Autopilot thing is just a joke, too, right?

2. This post, this blog, and the author of such herein neither supports nor discourages the consumption of meat and neither endorses nor disparages individuals who consume meat. The author fully supports the individual right to chose meat or meat alternatives when planning his or her diet and also supports the books of Josh Berk as part of a daily reading regiment but would not force or vote for legislation to force readers to read such works. The author warrants that she received no compensation, direct or implied, for these statements.

UPDATE: If you think this post is for real, make sure you read this one next.

I’ve got a beef with fellow YA author, Josh Berk, and readers, I need your help.

Some of you know that I’m vegetarian. That means I don’t eat any meat, chicken, or fish¹, and I don’t support the cruel practices of factory farms and most other modern food production facilities. It’s not something I generally evangelize, because to me, eating is like religion and sexual orientation and lots of other things that should be grouped into the broad category of “don’t you worry ’bout what I be doin’.” But when I see something that so blatantly sets out to mock and endorse cruelty and torture, I have to step in.

I recently learned that the current title of Josh Berk’s debut novel—the one I’d heard and believed was a temporary placeholder—is in fact the real title. And that makes me see blood red! Josh Berk, to whom I just presented the Zombie Chicken Award for his humorous blogs, supports animal abuse with his pro-murder debut title, THE DARK DAYS OF HAMBURGER HALPIN!

Dark Days, Mr. Berk? Do you have any idea what the life of an average beef cow is like? Hint: dark! So dark that I can’t even write about the atrocities a little cow endures without flashing a big fat RATED R for extreme violence and graphic content. There are plenty of other online sources to learn about such horrors that I don’t need to recount them here, but I will share this note, from GoVeg.com:

Like all animals, cows form strong maternal bonds with their children, and on dairy farms and cattle ranches, mother cows can be heard crying out for their calves for days after they are separated.

By including HAMBURGER in your book title as if it’s some kind of funny little inside joke, you’re supporting the heartless ripping away of precious babies from their crying mothers. Are you really that cruel?

Josh Berk, from one young adult author to another—no, from one compassionate being to another—I implore you in this very public space known as SarahOckler.com, the great democratizer among Ted-lovers and those who write stories about kids and teens, to renounce the book title that reeks of torture like so much non-irradiated meat gone rancid.

Reject murder and embrace a new, cruelty-free, non-animal-tested title…

THE DARK DAYS OF VEGGIEBURGER HALPIN

I realize that you’ve put many hours into writing, selling, and promoting your book in advance of its upcoming release under its former unenlightened title, but those hours are nothing compared to the hours of suffering a single beef cow endures on its pathetic path from cute, cuddly calf to greasy, steaming hamburger. Tortured and killed to put unhealthy food on our plates.

The book isn’t even out yet. The cover hasn’t been finalized, there aren’t any fan posters or Facebook flare buttons or press-on tattoos of this Hamburger Halpin character. A title change would require minimal effort. Minimal effort, for invaluable karmic returns and a little pro-veggie awareness, too.

Please. Change the title to THE DARK DAYS OF VEGGIEBURGER HALPIN!

Josh Berk Responds: I’m No Meathead

I sent my thoughts to Mr. Berk through our mutual agent, wanting to go about things the correct way before publicly lambasting him. To my surprise, he responded immediately:

Sarah, as much as I wanted to write off your comments as extremist, honestly, you’re not the first to contact me about this, and I truly don’t want to be insensitive to your feelings or to the plight of animals. So I’ve decided that if the readers feel so strongly about it, I will try to change the title, if it’s possible (no promises, as we’re getting closer to the release date). Before I approach my agent and publisher, I’d like to get a sense for the general reader reactions…

General reader reactions! That’s us, people. So… with Mr. Berk’s permission, I’m asking you to leave a comment here if you’d like him to consider a title change. I’ll send him the responses and see if we can make a difference. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m just glad he’s listening! He said he’d try!

Ok, I know this sounds a little batty, seriously. But I’m not telling anyone not to eat meat. That’s your choice. I’m just asking that Mr. Berk remove the reference from his book, because hamburgers (and how they become hamburgers) aren’t funny at all, and I don’t think it’s cool to be promoting it like it’s some kind of joke that 50 million cows are abused and slaughtered every year.

Thanks for your support, guys. And thanks for your willingness to hear us out, Berk. YA authors are the best!

UPDATE: If you think this post is for real, make sure you read this one next.

• Me: I’m so not tired. I’m so freaking awake. Awake, and hungry.
• Alex: *Sigh*
• Me: I’m totally not going to sleep. I’m just going to stay up and work. I have to finish this book. I’ll just stay up till 5 again, as usual.
• Alex: Well, okay. I’ll stay up with you.
• Me: You will?
• Alex: Yep!
• Me: *hugs*

11:38 PM, Thursday

• Me: Also…
• Alex: Yes?
• Me: I’m hungry. I’m totally going to make a bean burrito with hot sauce. Do you want one?
• Alex: Yes!
• Me: Yes! *does song about burritos*

11:49 PM, Thursday

• Me: I’m hella-stressed. I suck.
• Alex: What’s the one thing you could do that would alleviate some stress?
• Me: *giggles*
• Alex: Well?
• Me: I’ll tell you what it is… I’m about to bust into that mother f@$#%&@ Halloween candy.
• Alex: No, you’re not.
• Me: I am. After I eat my burrito.
• Alex: No.
• Me: Okay.

But later *giggle* after the bean burritos *giggle* I made some tea, and Alex went into his office *giggle* and I totally cut open the bag of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups (and I don’t mean the little mini ones), and I snuck one!

I was LMAO the whole time so I don’t know how he didn’t hear me, but…

Shhhhh! Don’t tell him!

I’m totally going to pretend a mouse did it. Better yet, Mr. Cocoa. He’s the bunny that lives upstairs. YES! It was totally Mr. Cocoa. I knew I couldn’t trust that floppy-eared, shifty-eyed bunny from upstairs!

Naughty Mr. Cocoa!

Nothing to worry about. Just your every day natural gas leak. They knocked on the door this morning to tell us they had to shut off the gas (so now I have a legitimate excuse to skip my shower and to go out to dinner instead of the flimsy excuses I pull out of a hat each morning), and within an hour, the front yard was destroyed.

It looks fun, tearing things up and causing destruction with little trucks, but I’m not sure I’d sign up for that job. Too dangerous, messing with natural gas. Just like when the guy came two weeks ago to convert some of the 2-prong plugs to 3-prong plugs. They’re still not 100% properly grounded according to this little test plug thingy Dad brought over, but I’m not about to mess with electrical currents in my free time, just like I’m not about to poke my head into that hole outside even though the National Fuel guys just left it there all gaping and torn up and where’s Jimmy Hoffa and all.

Like many homes in Elmwood Village, ours was built in the late 1800s, which means that we can hear every step on the old wood floors, but the place will probably stand up to an earthquake or zombie apocalypse. It also comes complete with original stained glass windows, built in cabinetry, and uber-creeptastic basement artifacts.

But the best part is that I finally have my own office! Still a work in progress — we are woefully short on bookshelves at the moment, but we’ll be ordering those shortly. My dad is also going to build me a table-slash-desk, and then I’m going to cover the walls in photographs.

Now that we’re semi-mostly unpacked, we’ve been exploring the neighborhood, too. We’re walking distance from some of the best Greek, Indian, Middle Eastern, and Asian restaurants in town, not to mention DeLish bakery, where I accidentally bought this exquisitely dangerous German chocolate brownie:

I think I’ll just leave you with that for now. Stay tuned tomorrow for a gas leak update and shots of Delaware Park in fall!

1. seeing the Underwear Cowboy perform in the middle of Times Square
2. walking by the giant blow-up rat during a labor strike
3. getting shat upon by a pigeon (after laughing your ass off at your husband-then-boyfriend who got shat upon milliseconds before you)
4. having someone quote the bible to you loudly on the train as if you are going straight to hell and need to be as prepared as possible
5. getting followed from the train by a would-be psycho looking to make new friends
6. giving a tourist directions in all confidence and realizing moments later that you totally sent him the wrong way², and then dodging into Starbucks for 20 minutes just so he doesn’t come back and see you
7. getting yelled at in multiple languages for no apparent reason
8. sitting in something unidentifiable on the subway and then trying to ignore it all day but you can’t, okay, you just can’t
9. seeing the umbrella graveyard the day after a storm
10. having to pay rent in cash because the landlord may or may not be in the “family”
11. falling in the middle of the street in front of oncoming traffic and having people walk faster to get by before the cars come and you know they’re laughing on the inside, too
12. locking your keys in the car with the car running while pulling partway but not all the way into a parking garage and backing up traffic in Tribeca for 45 minutes during morning rush hour while awaiting a locksmith while everyone curses and beeps and flips you off
13. paying $15 in ATM fees in a single day
14. getting serenaded by a mariachi band, a saxophonist, a kettle drummer, an accordianist, and a Christian rapper on the subway in a single commute
15. accidentally walking around with your skirt tucked right into your stockings and when you notice it and freak out in the middle of the sidewalk and stop and try to rearrange yourself without attracting attention, you realize that you’re standing in front of the David Letterman Show studio right around the time they start looking for crazies like you to put in some comedy sketch about weird New Yorkers
16. having a coffee guy who sees you every morning and knows how you like your coffee and has it ready for you as you approach and even though you never exchange names, he’s always your coffee guy and this somehow makes you kindred spirits
17. getting your first Manhattan job and being all young and idealistic only to quickly learn how much the working world sucks
18. watching someone faint and fall into the subway tracks and helping her out but then secretly being afraid to touch her because like ewww she just fell into the tracks and all you can think is “Ohmigod go home right now and boil yourself!”
19. elbowing someone stealthily but really, really hard in the ribs after she tried to shove you onto the train, and of course…
20. sighting aforementioned celebrity.

So how fitting that tonight, during a “Farewell, New York” dinner with a friend at yummy Candle 79, not one, not two, but three celebs sat at the table directly across from us. Our service plummeted dramatically after that, but it was worth it just to have this final New York experience. I resisted the urge to dig out my camera and take a few pics on the down low, because you know, I didn’t want to be that guy at the party. Okay I mean I kind of did want to be that guy, but ultimately I wasn’t. Because someday when I’m Kind of a Big Deal Around Here, I’ll want to dine out in peace without the YA paparazzi trying to sneak shots at me for their blogs³.

Wait, is there a YA paparazzi? I don’t even know. Either way, now I can leave New York next week feeling completely initiated!

Can you guess the celeb identities from these hints?

• Celeb #1: Ordered a virgin bloody mary. As a recovering alcoholic bartender, he tries to stay away from the sauce.
• Celeb #2: After the waitress described the chef’s own special creation — curry-encrusted, fig-garnished seitan over cauliflower and brown basmati rice — he replied, “yeah, but your chefs were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”
• Celeb #3: Ordered rabbit stew. It was kind awkward, considering Candle 79 is a vegan joint, but when she held up that big knife, the waitress knew she wasn’t messing around.