Category Archives: Books

Summer reading 2015


Summer is a marvelous time to settle into the nearest nylon-webbed chair and catch up on all your reading. And I don’t mean just any reading–I mean FUN reading! Summer is a time for cornball genre fiction that you wouldn’t dare read in December. It’s for putting aside the classy graphic novels in favor of comic books.

Sadly, I am not taking my own advice because I thought it would be “fun” to join my son in reading the summer assignment for his upcoming AP English Literature class. I enjoyed Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, but Atonement was so awful it made me want to make Ian McEwan beg for MY forgiveness. Right now I can safely say that I am the only parent at Lake Harriet reading Jane Eyre and not The Girl on the Train.






While I’m not reading anything terribly fun, I’ve written some stuff lately that I know you’ll like, in both analog and digital iterations.

Read on your screens:

“What Do ALL Women Want?” Minnesota Women’s Press, May 2015 issue

As a parent of a certain age, I haven’t had the stamina to watch award-worthy films since the 20th century, so when “The Lego Movie” was snubbed for Best Animated Feature, I knew I would probably skip watching the Academy Awards in February….but I witnessed my Twitter timeline explode with the news that Patricia Arquette used her 30 seconds in the worldwide spotlight to call for “pay equity once and for all.” Wow! When was the last time you heard someone talk about pay equity on television? Network television?

“Stuck in the Middle With Shingles,” The Mid, June 8, 2015

Since my family failed to support me, I turned to Google, good old nonjudgmental Google, and entered the search terms “hot rash back lumpy.” The amateur diagnosis? Shingles.


I am too young for shingles!

Yet when the nurse practitioner at the Minute Clinic took a peek, the first word out of her mouth was “herpes.”


I am too old for herpes!

“Better Known Than Unknown” Mamalode, June 11, 2015

Mothers assume we are well-equipped to manage the balance between risk and reward, between health and hazard, but one rainy August afternoon I tipped the scales so far they broke—to protect my son from dust mites, I nearly drove him into a funnel cloud.


Read in paperback:


“A Dose of Surreality,” from Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, 2nd Edition, edited by Tina Beitler, Kristi Campbell, and Lisa Nolan

With all the grace of a reanimated corpse, I lurched across the tilting hardwood floor and was struck with panic: had I been terribly mistaken in my interpretation of that afternoon’s events? Was I on a lower plane of existence, not higher? Had divine judgment been handed down upon me when I wasn’t paying attention? Was it my fate to spend eternity suffering from vertigo while being screamed at by a hysterical, sleep-deprived toddler?  All for the crime of sometimes letting the kids have yogurt made with high fructose corn syrup??

Available NOW from Monkey Star Press! Warning: may make you extremely sleepy


“Of Woman Grown,” from Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe and WTF?!, edited by Shannon Day and Tara Wilson

I had so little left to enjoy these days: no alcohol, no caffeine, no regular bowel movements.  Dr. Farber handed me a pamphlet titled Pregnancy Nutrition And You, a title that already implied that the two were in opposition to one another. Even worse, the beaming mother in the pamphlet photograph didn’t look puffy and bloated like me; with only her belly distended, she looked like she’d just had her fill of unlimited breadsticks at Olive Garden.  A dangerous thought entered my dizzy, hormonal brain: maybe the pregnant do not have free reign to consume massive amounts of foods that sensible people restrict, like Laffy Taffy, glazed donuts and Orville Redenbacher’s Movie Theater Popcorn Now With Extra Butter.

Available NOW from Tipsy Squirrel Press! Warning: may make you extremely thirsty



What are YOU reading this summer?














Some of my best friends are trollops

It may not look like much, but believe me when I tell you that room 201 in Myers Hall is made of magic.

Cropped 2nd Myers

This tiny dorm room, on the campus of Carleton College, is where I lived from September 1991 to June 1992. In this room I laughed, cried, listened to “Nevermind” and “Bandwagonesque” nonstop, drank myself silly, crushed hard, had my heart broken, even studied occasionally.

Directly across the hall from 201 was another magical room, 236 to be exact. It housed two women who became  my lifelong friends: Liz, who passed away in 2007, and Gillie, with whom I attended our 20th college reunion last spring. That’s her on the left. I swear we did not plan to dress in matching v-necked navy tops, but that’s just what happens when people know each other for more than two decades.

Gillie is a smart, thoughtful, and talented writer of nonfiction essays, a mom of two, a bagpipe widow, and something of a stinky chooch trollop. I don’t know if she shaves above the knee, but I do know that she has a fabulous essay in this new anthology, released TODAY by Blue Lobster Book Company:



Gillie was able to prevail upon the publisher to give me an advance copy of the book in exchange for my honest review. Honestly? I would walk through fire for Gillie, but luckily, I didn’t have to. The book is good!


First things first: I love the word “trollop.” It signals nonstop hilarity to me, and while Only Trollops Save Above the Knee has hilarity aplenty, it also has a great deal of heart.

When Ramona Scarborough revealed that her remarkable mother passed away, I felt a little lost too. I loved traveling to the Holy Land with the very wise Czarina Irina of Iuka. I felt the pain of Patricia Walsh’s nana, desperately worried that athletics would damage her granddaughter’s vulnerable “female organs.”

My favorite essay, Gillie Bishop’s “Criticize Your Child to Better Self-Esteem,” is a funny and very intelligent analysis of the ways mothers and daughters must balance deep love with painful honesty. What do you do when your non-musical daughter wants to be a songwriter? When your sensitive, gentle, elephant-loving daughter fails to grasp that a life in zookeeping might be better suited for her practical, scientific older sister? Bishop’s keen observations of three generations of well-meaning women will strike a chord in anyone attempting to improve on the mistakes of the past.

This book could have had a few other titles: “It’s Only Hair,” “Don’t Return Anything Under Fifty Dollars,” “Baby, You Need to Pluck Your Eyebrows,” “If You See a Needle in the Sand, Don’t Touch It,” or what must have been editor Crystal Ponti’s runner-up, “Nobody Likes an Old Dick.”  No matter the title, this is a wise, funny collection that anyone with a mom (that is, everyone) will appreciate.


Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee is available today on Amazon in ebook or paperback. Order it with The Radical Housewife to complete THE BEST MOTHER’S DAY GIFT EVER!!


Mothers Day Stamp

This may be a vintage stamp, but the deadline is the same: May 10 is indeed this year’s Mother’s Day. Eek.

Take it from me: MOMS LOVE BOOKS. Start shopping NOW!


Radical homemakers vs. radical housewives

This post was first published on May 20, 2010, but is relevant today because a search for MY book, “The Radical Housewife: Redefining Family Values for the 21st Century” might lead you down a different path. And we wouldn’t want that!


Book Kitchen

Here’s the cover you need to look for, kids! Just for fun, I took this picture in my messy kitchen. Told ya I’m a housewife, not a homemaker!


A note from one of the publishers at the Minnesota Women’s Press reminded me of my long-delayed intention of talking a bit about a fellow Radical Shannon out there: Shannon Hayes, she of the Radical Homemaking book and series of articles in Yes! magazine. I appreciate her ideas (for the world needs MORE radical Shannons in it, not fewer) but she and I have totally different practices and goals.

Hayes’s subtitle is “reclaiming domesticity from a consumer culture.” As a committed pinko, I like anything that questions the status quo. Capitalism exists to make us all desperately unhappy sheep. The short term consequences are increased L’Oreal and Bud Lite sales–long term consequences are entrenched classism, racism, and sexism.

Hayes’s book site states that “it is the story of pioneering men and women who are redefining feminism and the good life by adhering to simple principles of ecological sustainability, social justice, community engagement and family well-being.” Elsewhere, she writes: “in essence, the great work we face requires rekindling the home fires.”

And that’s where we part ways.

It starts with the word “homemaker,” one that I have always found problematic. How does one MAKE a home? I haven’t a clue. Is it by washing the floors? Baking from scratch? Quilting? Gardening? Reading bedtime stories? Nurturing relationships? I clean my home. In the interest of sustainability, I recycle and compost like a maniac, carry my cloth bags with me, bike it up, etc. etc. But I don’t think that keeping a coop of chickens or canning the beans from my garden is the way towards a more just world.

For one thing, “rekindling the home fires” implies turning inward, reaffirming the family as the basic unit of society, just like the folks at the Christian Coalition. Now, I don’t know if Shannon Hayes is religiously motivated. But once you start turning inwards, towards a unit that looks like you, talks like you and thinks like you, you start getting out of touch with the complex systems that conspire against the people who DON’T look like you!

Feminism is about fighting oppression in all its forms. That means we must work outward, not inward. This is why I must place Radical Homemaking on the Mommy Wars spectrum, despite its fine intentions. Examples of Radical Homemakers, the author included, have only been well-off, highly educated white women.  “The Opt-Out Revolution,” anyone?

A discussion on the subject at Bitch led me to the blogger Vegan Burnout, who wrote: “to frame the choice between working a soulless 9-to-5 or building a backyard chicken coop and learning to can tomatoes as the only feminist options is reductive and insulting.” It’s easy to choose your choice when you have so many choices to choose from that when you do choose, your choice is automatically THE BEST ONE! It’s the Opt-Out argument from 2003 all over again.

So why did I pick the Radical Housewife moniker, then? Because I find the word “housewife” really funny. That’s why. When I’m asked to fill in the box marked “occupation,” I say I’m a writer and an at-home parent. The damn home can make itself for all I care.

Sorry, Radical Shannon. I just don’t buy it (anti-capitalist pun intended).


If YOU’RE in the mood to buy, why not get a copy of The Radical Housewife from these fine retailers? 


Barnes & Noble


Your local indie store (via IndieBound)


A dream come true




Library book




2014-12-22 13.45.45-1


This is really, really great.

Doesn’t every nerdy little kid dream of this day?

I know I did.




A Thanks Giveaway!


Reasons I loathe Thanksgiving:

  1. The school holiday is unneccessarily long
  2. Christmas crap everywhere
  3. Start of six months of winter

Reasons I love Thanksgiving:

  1. Pie
  2. Pie
  3. Pie

And the winner is: PIE! So I LOVE Thanksgiving! 


I have a lot to be thankful for, especially this year, THE YEAR OF THE BOOK. I wrote a book and Medusa’s Muse published it. As a sweet friend reminded me, “it only took you five years of anguish and hard work!”




“Shannon!” you gasp, shocked to your liberal core. “You didn’t write a book to make money! You wrote a book to be FAMOUS!”


call me oprah


I kid, I kid.

I am VERY thankful that I had the opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream. How many people can say that? And in nine days I’ll be a guest in the lovely home of very dear friends, eating massive amounts of pie. Life is pretty damn good.

So why not share that good fortune with you? Enter below to win one of two copies I’m giving away as a THANK YOU to everyone who’s been a part of this arduous but amazing process. Winners can get their copies personalized for themselves or for the winter holiday gift recipient of their choice! And who wouldn’t love seeing The Radical Housewife under their tree/menorah/Festivus pole? Well, maybe not the great-aunt who belongs to Concerned Women for America: she might not like all the swearing!


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Good luck!


This book thing is actually happening


You’d think after five years of work I wouldn’t be surprised that I wrote a book, and yet….


…I guess I am.

The copy I’m reading is merely a proof, the kind of thing that authors parse for EVERY TINY LITTLE ERROR until it makes their publishers want to murder them, even from a thousand miles away. So far I’ve only found a couple, a few more glaring than others. I’m trying not to lie awake at night obsessing about them, instead reminding myself that to do so would be missing the forest for the trees, and in this case the forest is MY GODDAMN BOOK.

While print copies are not yet available, the ebook is ready for downloading on KindleKobo, and Nook. And I’m already getting some reviews, including this absolutely bananas post from Renia Carsillo that includes her favorite quotes:





And NO we are not related–in fact, we have never met. That will change in the virtual realm when I join Renia and her readers in a Google hangout to talk about the book on August 22. I hope you’ll join us to dish on the book and all things feminist parenting.

Those who join my mailing list will be the first to get the scoop on when print copies are available, as well as where I’ll be doing my first signing. BIG HINT: it’s in Minneapolis, but it’s not at my house (thank gawd).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book to write edit read.





My exclusive secrets to self-confidence!


This post is inspired by the copy of The Confidence Code by Katty Kay and Claire Shipman that was sent to me by their publisher’s PR department. It was released today and you can get it on Amazon or wherever. I haven’t finished it.

But! I had an experience recently in which my own usually dismal self-esteem got a major boost. I did it in a series of steps that I am thrilled to share with my readers, all two of you, EXCLUSIVELY! Do as I do and be prepared to be the most self-assured person in the room.




First of all, get a column for a newspaper or magazine.  Spend several years building a relationship with your audience. Discuss feminism, death, marriage, Madonna, food–all the really important stuff.  Then hit ’em with a confession that they weren’t expecting:

I have to know: Am I appealing to you? Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Do you think I’m good enough? 
Do you like me? 

Continue with stories from childhood, careful not to blame lack of self-esteem on either parents or kindly old kindergarten teachers. Be sure to consult your thesaurus so you sound more like a professor than a cowering wimp when you write things like:

Without your approval, I am bereft. When I have it, I am momentarily delighted, yet always aware of how deeply in its thrall I remain – and how much it is my master. 

I know what you’re thinking: the idea of writing these words for public consumption is mortifying. It’s embarrassing enough to FEEL this way, but to confess it?! Trust me. I know what I’m doing here.

You, dear reader, wield extraordinary power, though most of you don’t know it. Hell, most of you reading this don’t even know me.(Would you like to? Please say yes.) 

Send the piece to your editor, with a joking tagline of “hope you like it!” Lol, rofl, lmfao, etc.

When the essay appears in print and online, read it, then cringe. What is worse: displaying your underpants or your emotional vulnerability in public? You think you know the answer until the messages start popping up in your inbox.

Me too.

I totally relate!

Thank you for writing this. I’m a big fan.


Imagine all of that stuff happening to you. It feels pretty great, doesn’t it? The feeling will last until you are pitched a book about why women have no self-confidence, it occurs to you to write a blog about it, and then you find yourself wasting hours taking and deleting selfies with the book because your frizzy hair looks like crap today.

It takes Kay and Shipman until page 141 to get to the meat of their book, which is the advice: “when in doubt, act.”

So I’m publishing this blog and the least awful picture of me, the book, and my hair.

I’m going to quote from my column again:

….give me a little feedback on this [piece]. Did it delight you? Excite you? Flatter you? 

I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait to hear from you. 













What makes a “good” Aspie mother? (with a giveaway!)


Last week, Gina Crosley-Corcoran of the blog The Feminist Breeder wrote on her Facebook fan page that her oldest son was recently diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.  When I saw her post, I responded as I always do to parents sharing this news for the first time: “WELCOME TO THE CLUB!”

In my essay in the book The Good Mother Myth, I write about my son’s diagnosis:

…I hardly mourned when my son was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome when he was seven. After all, as countless psychologists reminded me, this was likely the same neurological quirk that made Bill Gates the wealthiest man in the world.  Hell, in my wholly overeducated social circle (I am one of very few with “just” a bachelor’s degree), you’d be hard pressed to find a young boy without a spot on the autism spectrum.  

The words here are elegant and composed, but in 2007 I was a wreck.  In truth, I had been a wreck ever since my perfectly adorable infant opened his mouth in February 2000 and SCREAMED.  He wouldn’t stop for months.




So I did mourn: I mourned the stubbornly persistent belief that parenting was supposed to look like it did on TV, that my child and I would be so naturally in sync that I would know his every need, that my child would be warmly accepted into the fabric of modern society by virtue of his very existence.

Instead, I had a kid who was regularly singled out by frustrated relatives as well as preschool, kindergarten, and grade school teachers for not being their version of “normal.” I had his preschool classmate tell me, upon learning whose mother I was: “I don’t like Elliott.  He screams a lot.”

I have to pause here an collect myself because I am tearing up.  I haven’t thought about that preschool experience in years, yet the memory still makes me clench my teeth so hard I can feel my crowns loosen.

It is painful to imagine a world that might not love your child as much as you love him.  This is true for any parent of any kid, with or without special needs.  A childhood diagnosis, however, kicks this panic up a thousand notches, for moms especially.

Why moms?  Because we parent under the excruciating glare of  The Good Mother Myth.




Gina herself has an essay in this anthology, a poignant look at abuse and neglect she suffered in her childhood and her determination to break the cycle with her own kids.  I write in my own essay about how much I fear passing on my family’s tendency towards anxiety:

My seven-year-old daughter Miriam bites her nails.  She chews them down to angry red nubs that even I, her loving (good!) mother, must admit are really quite ugly.  “It’s a bad habit,” she laments, using language she learned from a Berenstain Bears book on the subject.  “I want to stop it, but I can’t.”  I tell her I know how she feels.  When I was her age, my fingers were raw and bloody too, like the tips of ten half-eaten hot dogs.  

You didn’t ask, but I’ll tell you anyway: I believe that autism is genetic.  My wholly unscientific theory is that in the latter part of the 20th century, nerds and geeks who might have been isolated from one another were suddenly let loose on the campuses of research universities and liberal arts colleges where they met, fell in love, and decided to breed (this theory holds true for my friends in same-sex couples, who selected donors that shared their interests, like, y’know, science and engineering).

Gina is very well-known in the blogosphere and in social media, so naturally the post about her son drew a lot of traffic.  What drew even MORE traffic was a series of followup comments and posts between Gina and autistic self-advocates who objected to what they perceived as Gina’s desire to “cure” her son of his condition.  I won’t take a side in the debate, which as of this writing has devolved into a very bitter affair that includes name-calling, accusations of lying and harassment, the works.  Nothing good comes of that, online or elsewhere.

Here’s what I do know: there is genuine and deep pain on all sides.  Autistic adults hurt because they feel humiliated and denigrated when the complexity of their lives is reduced to the image of a missing puzzle piece and ridiculous stunts like turning the Empire State Building blue.  I can’t speak for Gina, but holy crap did I feel hurt and vulnerable when people tried to tell me the “best” way to support my son’s diagnosis.  For a few years there I walked around like an open wound.  Every suggestion stabbed my heart to a very familiar refrain:



2014-01-17 11.54.59


There is good news: my son is the coolest boy in the universe, and I would not change a damn thing about him.  Not a damn thing!  I WANT to give him the tools he needs to be a happy, socially successful adult., so I offer him help with skills that don’t come naturally–like reciprocal conversation, sensory processing, nonverbal communication, etc–but I wouldn’t change him.  He knows he has Asperger’s, and he’s not ashamed of it.  In fact, he wrote a short essay for his school newspaper about his life as an Aspie.  I love him so much that I want not only to be a GOOD mother, but the BEST mother that he needs.

I don’t always succeed, though, and that’s why I’m sharing some other good news:  the kind people at Seal Press, publishers of The Good Mother Myth, want to send a Radical Housewife reader a copy of the book for FREE.  Yes, FREE!  In addition to Gina and me, contributors include Sharon Lerner, K.J. Dell’Antonia, Soraya Chemaly, Jennifer Baumgardner, and many other smart, funny, thoughtful parents who are committed to doing the best they can.

Which is pretty good, I think.

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Good mothers, bad mothers



This fall, my son, an eighth grader, enrolled in an advanced math course for gifted kids at the University of Minnesota.


He has spent more than a few nights cussing me out for “forcing” him to do something that is so hard.


One reason this math is so hard is that, for the previous thirteen years of his life, the math has been so goddamn easy.  For once he is receiving instruction appropriate for his intellect.


His intellect may be highly developed, but many of his other skills are not.  He did most of his first assignment in ballpoint pen because it did not occur to him to walk downstairs to get a pencil.  Unfortunately, many of the problems written in pen were wrong.  Did I neglect to tell him that you can’t erase pen?


When he forgot his math book and supplies at home, I brought them to school for him.


When I dropped them off, I chewed him out royally–this was the fourth time in two weeks that the math stuff had been left one place or another.  He sobbed that he was a stupid idiot and I obviously hated him and believed he would be a loser all his life and he might as well quit the human race.



Which is it?




If you’re like me, you ask yourself this question a thousand times an hour, a million times a day–despite knowing that it is unanswerable.  When I thrash myself against the good/bad binary, I am wasting energy that would be better used to care for myself and for the kids who are counting me.

So why do it?  Whose interest does it serve?  Offhand, I could name a few: the Bugaboo company, Phyllis Schlafly, Us Weekly magazine, patriarchal capitalism, the usual axis of evil.

Avital Norman Nathman knows that The Good Mother Myth won’t be shattered by the anthology of the same name that’s being released by Seal Press in January 2014–but like I tell my math student, sometimes it’s worth it to put yourself out there and TRY instead of just shaking your fist at the universe.  Or something to that effect.

Speaking of putting yourself out there, The Good Mother Myth: Redefining Motherhood to Fit Reality features an essay I wrote last summer that is some of the most vulnerable stuff I’ve ever had the nerve to share with the reading public.  I’m scared that you’ll hate it and think I’m a loser and/or stupid idiot and I might as well quit the human race, because only BAD mothers admit to frailty…or was it GOOD mothers?  I can’t remember anymore…

I hope you’ll pre-order it anyway, either from Amazon or from the indie bookseller of your choice.  To sign up for a newsletter about the book and its fab editor and contributors, put your info in the handy widget on the upper right hand corner of your screen.

And if any of you are algebra experts, say so in the comments.




Next big things


During January in Minnesota, no one feels big.  The excitement and energy of the holiday season has worn off and we’ve awakened to darkness, cold, and existential despair, which has a way of making you feel very small indeed.


My street looks just like this every January 1st, darn it!


So it is with some shyness and anxiety that I accepted a challenge from my friend Sonya Huber to participate in a little blog-go-round called Next Big Things.  Sonya, herself the author of two great creative nonfiction books (Opa Nobody and Cover Me), completed these questions at the behest of another author, then she tagged me to do the same.  I, in turn, have to tag some up-and-comers who will complete the circle of Next Big Thinginess.  Look for their names at the end of the post.


What is the title of your book?

The Radical Housewife: Redefining Family Values for the 21st Century, but you knew that. I’ve officially resolved to have the editing done and the book in your hot little hands by the end of this year, even if it means I have to step over dead bodies in the snow in my haste to deliver edits to my publisher.  Marge would understand.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

One day my husband said, “Why are you driving yourself nuts writing novels when you are already writing really interesting stuff about your life as the anti-Schlafly?  Why not publish all of that?”  I mulled this over and realized that writing fictionalized versions of my life was quite a lot of work–all those pseudonyms to remember, the hair and eye colors to change!  The essays I was writing for the Minnesota Women’s Press and for my old MySpace blog would be my jumping-off point for a full-length book about the adventures of this feminist activist parent.

In hindsight, I probably should have stuck to just changing all my novel’s characters to vampires and been done with it.

What genre does your book fall under?

One that I invented: Political Momoir.  I thought this was very clever, but industry professionals did not.  How well I remember the exasperation of the editors and agents! “Sometimes it reads like a memoir, sometimes like a polemic,” they’d say.  “BUT I’M A FEMINIST WHO REJECTS THE RIGIDITY OF BINARIES!” I’d splutter in my politely middle-aged Minnesotan way.

In hindsight, I should have already become famous before I attempted to do anything interesting.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Janeane Garafalo, patron saint of bespectacled white nerd girls everywhere, as The Radical Housewife!



Jemaine Clement as the handsome and heavily-Kiwi-accented Radical Hubby!


Bart & Lisa Simpson as the children!









What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

The Radical Housewife documents ten years in the life of a feminist stay-at-home-mom determined to upend the myth of American “family values” one dirty diaper, clinic picket, and PTA meeting at a time.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Working off a framework provided my blog posts & MWP essays, only about six months for the first bloated draft.  I offered a few chapters up to my friends, who made valuable suggestions, one of which was “you probably shouldn’t curse so much.”  Duly fucking noted.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Remember Matt’s naïve suggestion that I write about my own life for public consumption?  IT’S ALL HIS FAULT.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Ah, the dreaded request for “comp titles.”  From my exhaustive proposal, I came up with PAGES and PAGES of books by  Third Wave feminists, mommybloggers, women’s studies academicians, even jokey lefty books by Al Franken, but no single genre fit me. I saw this as proof beyond a doubt that I am the specialest snowflake in the world and ought to get a contract with a hefty up-front advance.  Didn’t happen.

I think the closest comp titles out there are probably Ariel Gore’s HipMama books: personal, confessional, funny, frustrated, and always aware of how our individual stories and larger political movements are interconnected.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I love the word “pique.” It isn’t used enough.  Neither is “kerfuffle.”

I do think that I present a pretty compelling argument for feminists being more actively concerned with the needs of American families and children than the conservatives who claim to have a monopoly on the subject.  I also have some pretty interesting run-ins with psycho anti-choicers who try to shove fetus photos at my kids, parents at my kids’ school who troll me online because of my political views, and Michele Bachmann BEFORE she became MICHELE BACHMANN!

Who will represent your book?

A wild warrior woman in California with a big heart, a sweet tooth, and snakes where her hair should be: Medusa’s Muse.

In hindsight, signing with her was a great thing to do.  No regrets whatsoever.

Who are your Next Big Things? 

Zoe Ann Nicholson, “The Engaged Heart: An Activist’s Life”

Avital Norman Nathman, “Deconstructing the Myth of the Good Mother”

Robin Marty & Jessica Mason Pieklo, “Crow After Roe”

Erin Matson, who will deny that she is writing a book BUT I KNOW BETTER



Onward to a Big 2013!