I am George McFly

If you've seen "Back to the Future" you might remember the scene at the end of the movie where George McFly receives a box that contains the first copies of the book he wrote. The scene was intended to help solidify the moral of the story, as George says, "Like I've always told you, you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." But for me, it was always a moment of wistful envy. I really, really wanted to open a box of books with my name on the covers. Really, really.

So the day FINALLY came when the UPS truck slowed and then actually stopped at my house. I just happened to be getting into my car when I saw it approach, and instead of calmly waiting for the driver to bring the box to me, I literally ran to his open door, pretty much scaring the bejeebers out of him. I then squealed (loudly, shrilly) when he produced the large box from the publisher. I started babbling, "It's my book! My book!" as I tried to sign for it while still holding the box. Yep, I should have put the box down, but I didn't wanna. It was MY BOOK!

The driver didn't say a word as he looked at me sideways. I'd say he may have driven off as fast as he could, but that's hard to say with UPS. And if he glanced back in his rear-view mirror, he would have really given me an odd look as he watched a grown woman awkwardly trying to skip into the house with a heavy box.

I tore the box open as fast as I could. (A cautionary note: cardboard paper cuts are very unpleasant. I suggest the use of scissors.) There, in all its paperback glory, sat the culmination of all my hopes and dreams and energies: STUD MUFFINS: LUSCIOUS, DELECTABLE, YUMMY (AND GOOD MUFFIN RECIPES, TOO!) I picked up a copy, which turned out to be a hefty 200 pages, and I just stared at it for the longest time. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry, so I did both. Then I danced around with it, hugged it, and kissed it. Maybe it was a good thing I was home alone. I didn't need my family looking at me sidways, too.

I finally took a look inside. My reaction? It was a real book! I know that sounds stupid, but up until this moment all the writing, photos and recipes were just loose leaf parts and pieces. Here it all was, nicely bound, shiny, typeset and beautiful. And the photos were fabulous. I couldn't be happier without exploding.

So here's to you, George McFly and writers everywhere. May you often experience the unbelievable joy a box of books can bring. Sans cardboard paper cuts.

(Insert Theme to "Jeopardy" Here)

There were a few times during this project when I worried that I was caught in some freaky time-space continuum loop and I would be creating this book without end. (Not a bad way to spend eternity, if you think about it.) It was all-consuming, in both the time and energy categories. I often thought that if I had put that kind of energy into cleaning my house, you'd be able to see its shiny sparkle from space.

But the day finally came when all the work was absolutely, positively, and completely done. I could sleep again. I could breathe again. I could remember the faces of my children again. (Was that facial hair on my son? No, just chocolate pudding, thankfully.)

Now, all we had to do was wait for the final copy to become 15,000 copies of a new, fun, and sexy cookbook that would hopefully fly off bookstore shelves. If you've read my blog from the beginning (thanks to those who have!), you might remember that I am not a patient person. I want everything done NOW or sooner. I can't imagine if I had been born in a time when things moved slower. I'd probably explode. As it is now, I keep hoping someone invents a faster microwave. I mean, who has a minute and a half to wait for boiling water?

But wait, I did. Every day, I'd watch wistfully as the UPS truck sped past my home. I tried to will him to stop and bring me the author copies of our masterpiece, but to no avail. (By the way, I don't even think a spike strip across the road would stop these guys if you are not on their delivery docket. Save yourself and get out of their way!)

So, like Winnie the Pooh stuck in Rabbit's tree, I waited, and waited, and waited...

My Gloves are Now Too Big

Remember when I said I would never complain about The Best Job Ever? Well, there was one small moment in time when I came close to being unhappy with the project. I'll share it here, as it qualifies as one of the experiences we had on the path to publication, but I promise it will be the one and only time I will even remotely say something negative about The Best Job Ever.

Due to a miscalculation on both my part and an executive at the publishing company (who, by the way, is no longer there), I received a phone call that went something like this:

Ex-exec: We have a slight problem.

Me: Uh-oh. What?

Ex-exec: We need more words to fill the book.

Me: How many more? (I'm thinking 200, 300 tops.)

Ex-exec: Forty-thousand.

Me: (dead air)

Ex-exec: Hello? Are you there?

Me: I'm sorry, I think someone just cut in and said 40,000. Ha, ha, wouldn't that have been hilarious if you really had said 40,000?!

Ex-exec: That was me, and that is what I said.

Me: (dead air, as I'm trying to calculate the following: If I can type 80 words a minute, and there are 60 minutes in an hour...)

Ex-exec: And I hate to tell you this, but we need them in a week.

Me: (uncontrolled hyperventilating)

My mind started reeling at this point. I wasn't sure I even knew 40,000 words, let alone how to put them in some kind of comprehensive order. Plus, we still had several photo shoots left to do by the end of the same week. At that moment, I was seriously worried that my brain might truly explode, Hollywood-style, and ooze out on my floor.

I'm not sure how I pulled it off, but I somehow calmly convinced the exec that we could do this--no problem. I think I even thanked him for the opportunity that allowed us to tackle such a great challenge. I hung up, and then crumpled to the ground in a quivering, gelatinous mass of fear and panic.

After taking a few minutes to coagulate, I called my co-workers with the horrific news. In a state of shock, we got to work writing more stories, expanding the existing stories, creating more muffin recipes, and oiling down the last of the men (the latter I had to do faster than I wanted to, darn it.) From that moment on, except for time it took for the photo shoots, my hands did not leave the keyboard for nearly seven days straight. I have never known such fatigue, and I hope to never experience it again. Honestly, I couldn't feel my fingertips. And my back kept going into convulsions so many times that I tried to type standing up, which is not ergonomically correct at all.

Two interesting things did happen, though. First, there were parts of a couple of stories I wrote that I honestly, truthfully, and sincerely do not remember writing. About two or three in the morning, I would go into a fuzzy haze, and I believe a kind writer from the Great Beyond became my muse, taking over the typing. Somehow, the stories came and came. I would catch a few minutes of sleep here and there, then proof what I (or someone) had just created. I kid you not, it was like I was reading it for the first time. As I read, I had no idea what was coming next. And as much as I hate to admit it, these sleep-written stories were pretty good. I was equally grateful and freaked out about the whole thing.

The second thing had to do with my eyes. I have reached that age where I need glasses to see the computer screen, the newspaper, or anything else around me that should be in focus, like oncoming traffic. But after the week of staring at the computer, my distance vision suddenly became crystal clear. I remember being in the car and crying, "I can SEEEEEE!" when I could make out the Quizno's sign at fifty yards. I was thrilled, but sadly, it was only temporary. Within two days, I went back to my blurry world.

I talked to my eye doctor about my brief miracle, and he actually had a name for it: a compensatory spasm. Since I used my eyes to focus so long and so hard, the muscles overcompensated and basically got stuck in the correct position. Once the spasm ceased, they returned to their old-eye position. Sigh. (And just for the record, I prefer "miracle" to "spasm". It sounds better, and doesn't remind me of my junior high nickname.)

Somehow, some way, we were able to complete our assignment, and we delivered 40,000 words on time to the publishing company. Oh, were we happy and proud. Just goes to show what you can do when you give a 150% to your dream. And a half-inch of the ends of your fingers.

About a week later, I receive the first set of galleys in an e-mail from the publisher for proofing. I was so excited. Not only was this the first chance to see how the book was going to look, but it would be the first time we could read all the new stories alongside the old ones. With great anticipation, I clicked on the file and started reading. Hmmm, the first story didn't seem to have much of the additional writing we had submitted. Hmmm, the second story had some, but not all. Hmmm, the third story looked untouched. I started clicking through frantically, and calculated in my head that only about 10-20% of the 40,000 words were there.

Quickly, I called the publishing company. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: I don't seem to see all of the additional writing.

Ex-exec: (chuckling) Funny story! Know how the recipes and pictures take up a lot of space?

Me: (not chuckling) Yes.

Ex-exec: (still chuckling) Turns out I kinda, sorta didn't calculate for that, so we really didn't need all those words. But thanks, anyway.

Me: (dead air)

Muse: (soft weeping)

Dudes, Part Deux

Here are the rest of our "boys" who make up the hunks in the book:

John, our Boxer Stud: John was the model photographed by Tammy for a portrait that won her an international photography award. Congrats, Tammy! Our photo of John was shot at a boxing training facility, and we had him climbing in and out of boxing rings, dodging behind punching bags, and hanging from the ropes, all while trying to keep a muffin perched on his boxing glove. I hope "Muffin Balancing" comes in handy on his resume one day.

William, our Mardi Gras Stud: William was one of the models discovered at our open casting call. Actually, "run down" is an more accurate description, as I saw him walk by our booth without stopping. I chased after him and pretty much dragged him back to fill out the paperwork. Then we asked him to take off his sunglasses so we could take his picture. The second he did, we all went, "Whoa!" as we all went gaga over his gorgeous eyes. When you see his photo in the book, I dare you not to say, "Whoa!" too.

Joseph, our Cover Stud: We met Joseph when we were taking the preliminary shots for the book proposal a couple of years ago. He looked very good then, but he truly grew into his Studhood by the time he posed for the cover shot. I believe we have sold many a book on the strength of that picture alone. I can't tell you how many people we have got to smile after looking at the cover--even a tired old county clerk, who probably hasn't smiled at work in years. Ah, the power of the Stud Muffin!

Emmit, our Chocolate Muffin Stud: We truly enjoyed Emmit's photo shoot. He has a great smile and a even greater personality, so the session went smoothly and quickly. But we most enjoyed hearing about his absolutely adorable little boy--was he a proud papa! It was obvious to see genetics at work, because his little guy was a cutie-patootie! We might need to use him for a Mini-Muffin book.

Branden, our Wine Stud: We have been so fortunate to have found some really nice guys as our models, and Branden is no exception. He patiently stood out in that vineyard, wedged against a grapevine, holding that dazzling smile until we had the shot we needed. We did compensate him a bit better than some of our other models--he got the bottle of wine from the shot. Brandon also was great in our hilarious YouTube video as one of the Stud Muffins who help with the "baking" session (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKcDCmCwlbQ). I'm so glad that we used a voice-over in that video, because all you can hear in the background of the master is me cracking up at the antics.

Mark, our Muscle Stud: Mark was another of the kind men who agreed to be our first models used for selling the proposal. He was our original "Give Me S'more Muffin" man, but we recast him as our muscle guy. The biggest challenge during his photo shoot was keeping that little muffin balanced on his large bicep. I think we finally used double-faced tape, although as the evening wore on, we were considering hot glue or a staple gun, but we didn't want to damage the goods--I mean, kind man.

Christopher, our Tropical Lei Stud: He was another model we chased down at our casting call. It wasn't until he came to our table to fill out his application that we realized he was six-foot-five-inches of Hawaiian hunkiness. So we then got him out to the beach for his shot. Two memories remain: We put on a rub-on tattoo around his bicep with the word "stud" in it. After a five-plus hour shoot, Christopher tanned around the tattoo, so when it was removed, he had a negative image of his stud "branding" that he said stayed for many, many months. Also, we had him perch on the rocks as the tide was coming in. One rogue wave crashed over him, but he, in true Stud fashion, raised the muffin above the water, saving it for the next shot. He, on the other hand, got drenched.

Ryan, our Baseball Stud: He is Tammy's nephew and a professional NHRA driver who is on the fast track (excuse the pun) to stardom in his sport. Ryan was kind enough to help us out of a tight spot when we had to quickly get this shot to the publisher. While not in his normal racing uniform, he looked every bit the baseball player, as we had him pose in the outfield, infield, and dugout. We feel his shot will start many an engine--and we're not talking about the car kind.

Lee, our Secret Center Stud: Again, another ambush at our casting call. When I ask if he'd be interested, out came this wonderful Scottish accent. Turns out he and his family were here from Glasgow for his job in computers. The more he talked, the more we wanted him to continue talking. We just love his accent! (You can hear it at www.studmuffinsbook.com and clicking on Stud Videos. He's on the news feature video.) We chose him as our suave James Bond-type, and while we've learned that he looks really good in a tux, he looks even better in the kilt he wears to book signings. Step back, Sean Connery, you have serious competition!

Ah, what fond memories of the photography sessions. But, as great as these were, there was so much more to come....

A Really Tough Job

A book of this nature turned out to be a lot more work than I ever envisioned. Entire 12-plus hour days were dedicated to finding photo shoot locations, scheduling models, prop making, story writing, and muffin baking. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life. Am I complaining? Oh, heck no!! It was the Best Job Ever! (Next to being a mom, of course, but now we're talking apples and oranges. Or would that be Beef Cakes and Baby Cakes?)

My previous work experience is as follows: I started in the snack bar at my high school at age 14, moved on to babysitting, gas station attendant (remember those people who actually pumped your gas and washed your windows?) Hickory Farms Beef Stick hawker ("....it's 100% beef, no pork, garlic, or pepper..."), movie theater concession clerk, clothing store salesperson, bakery store salesperson, lace store salesperson, kennel attendant at a Humane Society (worst job ever, as I had to euthanize unwanted animals...sob!) and Catholic middle school science teacher. I can honestly, whole-heartily say that none of these employment opportunities gave me a fraction of the joy that this project did. I mean, c'mon: oiling down hunky guys, wiping off excess oil from hunky guys--how can this possibly be bad?

That said, my favorite part of the project had to have been the photo shoots. Each was special and enjoyable in its own way, and like children, I couldn't possibly choose my favorite model:

Jack (aka Sparky) our Breakfast in Bed Stud: He was our first, and you always remember your first anything, right? I just recall stepping back from all the flurry of setting up the shoot, with Jack looking incredible and Tammy working her magic, and I cried, once again. (Hmm, I wonder if I'm too emotional?) But this moment is etched in my brain, as it was the physical realization that I was living my motto of "Make a wish, then make it happen." Stud Muffins was actually happening, right there before my soggy eyes. Way too cool.

Catoris, our Optometrist Stud: He has a beautiful smile, but the shot that spoke to us was his slight, come hither grin. I hope you might one day see his pearly whites, as they are stunning. One other remembrance was that we paid him with socks. He liked the pair we used for his ensemble, so it was the very least we could give him. That, and some muffins, of course.

Ron, our Camper Stud: His sessions went very smoothly, as he's had some photo shoot experience as a pro-softball player. He was also very generous with his time, as we had to re-shoot at a better location. All this while he was waiting to hear the news about the arrival of his first grandchild. Go Grandpa Stud!

Anthony, our Butler Stud: What you can't see in the photo is his heavily bandaged leg. He was only several days out of knee surgery, and we had him limping up and down stairs to get the shot we needed. Then, at our cast party, he was only several days out of laser eye surgery, which found him blindly maneuvering around cake tables and bar maids. He's been a real trouper, but I've warned him that should we go on Oprah, he'd best stay healthy, as we can't have his pancreas (or any other vital internal organ) oozing out on camera.

John, our Coffee Stud: He's been with us since the beginning, helping us with the initial photos we took to sell the project. But in fact, we've known John for many years before that, as he was the PE teacher at the Catholic school where we all originally met. Yes, I have taken him from lowly coach to international supermodel. He owes me big. (John, that means a 10% finders fee. Paid in cash.)

Jeremy, our Pool Stud: He is our youngest model and a real sport as we made him float, tread water, and/or hang from the edge of the pool for hours to get his shot. Also, he allowed us to alter his "do", which was originally spiked up in the middle. And while he wasn't too crazy about the way his hair looked, I told him I thought he looked like a young Robert Redford. To which he replied, "Who?" I felt very old that day.

Stephen, our Golfer Stud: Actually, he is Dr. Stephen, a very well-respected orthodontist in our area. It was fun showing his audition shot to friends, who would exclaim, "He our orthodontist! He is so handsome! And so nice!" Yep, those are the two qualities we required for our models. (The handsome and nice part--not so much the dental experience, although my kids' teeth might need some work one day...) He was also kind enough to allow us to use his personal golf clubs for the shot. And, of course, his smile was just perfect, as one would expect!


Up next, the other half of our gaggle of guys. Or would that be herd of beef?

Bring Me Men! (Or I'll Chase 'Em Down)

First order of business: Call the school district, and while trying to keep the giddiness and sheer joy out of my voice, politely remove myself from the phone tree list for substitute teachers--forever. I don't know if I succeeded, but I have the feeling they were slightly relieved to take me off the list, as they probably thought I was a bit touched as I giggled my regrets.

Next order of business: Find men.

Now, to give you a very brief description of my experience finding men, it's rather pathetic. I was a shy, chubby, introverted teen who didn't have a first date until my senior year in high school. I then met my future husband at 18, when my mom brought him home for dinner, thus ending my experience finding men.

So there I was, on a glorious April day, at a casting call booth in the center parkway of Victoria Gardens, an upscale shopping venue, in search of hunky men. Wow, did I feel like a fish waaaaay out of water, like a grouper dumped in the middle of the Sahara, but that drive to become a published author trumped my pounding heart and shaking hands. Joining me that day of Trolling for Men were my two writing partners and Tammy, our amazing, wonderful, generous and creative photographer, who, by all rights should be in Los Angeles or New York or Paris shooting top supermodels, but by some incredible twist of fate or placement of the angels, was based in my little home town. Finding her was our second best thing that happened to this project.

At first, it was kind of slim pickings as the parade of men trickled in, but by late afternoon, we actually had a line for a brief time. Then, after a few hours of being emboldened by the whole experience , we began hunting them down ourselves. If a cute guy walked by but didn't stop, one of us would grab a business card and chase him down. We were on a Man Quest, and neither soggy grass nor sinking heels kept us from our destiny. Believe it or not, we found several of our great models this way (more on them later.) And the fact that they didn't get put off by sweaty, puffing women was a real plus on their application.

The day resulted in finding nearly 2/3 of the models we needed. At first, we kind of panicked, wondering where we were going to find the balance of boys. But we needed not to fear, because as word of our search got out, men started hunting us down, asking to be in the book. Ah, life was good.

When all was said and done, we had found our great models, and we made plans for principal photography to commence.

Next up: Lights, camera, baby oil.

Give Me Patience--NOW!

Book concept? Check. Find an agent? Check. Cash royalty check? No check. Turns out, the real work was just beginning. First thing up was to create a book proposal. Remember those book reports you wrote in the 4th grade? Well, it turns out that they were actually important, as a proposal is basically the same thing--just an expanded description of the book, without the diorama. And to be honest, this one was a lot more fun to write than the one I penned on Pippi Longstockings. In that one, I couldn't write combinations of double-entendre and cooking directions. Ooh-la-la!

Andrea and I tweaked it a few times before we were satisfied with a final copy, and then I gave her my blessings to send it off to publishers. Now, the scenario that formed in my brain played out something like this: Weary, jaded publishers, tired of the same old submissions would see this new and amazing idea leap on their computer screen. "Eureka!" they would all shout simultaneously, their excited voices echoing across the miles that separated them. With blurred fingers, they would write back to Andrea, "We must have this book! Money is no object!" Of course, Andrea, being the great agent she is, would announce, with accompanying fanfare, that the bidding war was now on. Within 24 hours, endless flurries of bidding and outbidding would almost crash Andrea's computer system until she would finally blurt out, "Enough!", accepting the multimillion dollar offer with options for film and music rights.

Yeah, I know. But it was such a wonderful dream.

In reality, days, weeks, then months crept by. Yes, we had some nibbles from several publishers and some very encouraging notes of praise, but no offers. With each rejection received, I began taking them a little too hard, as I am not the most patient person in the world. Once I get something in my head, I want it done yesterday. Plus, I was telling everybody that I had co-written a book that was being shopped around for a publisher, and it was very difficult to keep saying that we hadn't found one yet and to keep saying it in my perky, cheerleader tone. My Voice of Reason (aka Andrea) just kept calmly explaining that this was very common, and she was confident of a sale. I tried to believe her and stay patient. I really did.

Then I did the unthinkable: I let a sniggle of doubt eat away at my resolve to become a published author. This unfortunately coincided with the arrival of the holiday credit card bills. The result was me trudging, head hung low, to the nearest school district office to begin the application process for substitute teacher. Duh-duh-duhhhhhh. With a heavy heart, I forced myself to dig out my resume. I cringed as I had write an enthusiastic paragraph that explained my passion for becoming an overpaid babysitter. I forced on a happy face as I sat through an interview, where the nice lady explained that my phone would begin ringing around 5:00 each morning to see if I was available. I had fingerprints taken, background checks performed, and TB antibodies plunged into my arm. All I had left to do was sit through one more orientation on district policy, and I was officially in. I couldn't have been more depressed if I had been waiting in the express lane at the gallows.

Do you believe in fate? Karma? Un-fricken-believable luck? I'm not sure which qualifies for this next part of the story, but I will profess to believe in all of the above, just so that I don't tick off the responsible party. As I was getting dressed for that last orientation, feet literally feeling like lead as I got closer to the hour to leave, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID screen and saw the name and number of an angel: Andrea. It was Andrea. Andrea was calling me. The only time we had talked on the phone was when we were just starting our relationship, and the rest was via e-mail. I've heard people say that their heart skipped a beat, and at that moment, I understood what they meant. Lub-dub----dub. It was Andrea.

But by the second ring, my mind spun into reverse. What if she was calling to say that she'd given up; that she had tried her best, but only the four of us thought the book was good? Could I bear to hear her say those words? (I told you before that we writers are a neurotic bunch!) A third ring, and I knew I had to answer it and seal my fate, one way or another.

If I had to take a test on what she said verbatim on that February morning, I'd outright flunk. All I know is that my brain processed the information somehow through my pounding heart and sobbing tears: WE FOUND A PUBLISHER! O-MI-GOSH! Even as I write this, I am tearing up again. This was so unbelievably incredible. It was like Christmas and birthdays and prom night and first kiss and wishing on a star all rolled into one. I'm surprised I didn't blow a fuse, because I believe that moment now qualifies as one of my very finest memories, along with my wedding day and the birth of my children, and one that I will take with me to the end of this lifetime, and possibly on to the next. If I sound overly melodramatic, I apologize, but I had never had a dream come true before, and it was a pretty heady feeling, to say the very least. I highly recommend it!

I'm not sure why, but after I finished gushing/crying/jumping, I chose to go to the orientation. It was a very bad decision, because if they had quizzed me on what was presented, they would have strongly recommended tutoring and possible attention deficit medication. I know I sat in a chair at a u-shaped desk with a dozen other people, I know that someone was always talking, and I know they let us go after about two hours. Beyond that, you got me. My mind was reeling with all the things still left to do with the book, how to spend the royalty checks, and what to wear on Oprah.

Up next, reversing a substitute teaching application and chasing men through an upscale shopping venue while wearing heels.