why I love this blog…

Well, there are many reasons. First because it gives me someone to talk to about pop culture and television, especially Friday Night Lights. (My husband can only hear me swoon about Glee and Tim Riggins so much.) It’s like my water cooler since I started working at home and spending the majority of my time with someone who prefers Twist from the Fresh Beat Band when it comes to Boys of Television. (That would be my daughter, not my husband. Just to clarify.) Also it gives me a place to write where I don’t have to worry about editing or marketing so much (although all of those things are so important, thank goodness I have my agent and Penguin to deal with them most of the time). And you guys are honest with me (thanks for the heads up about MySpace being well…not so relevant. I suspected, but was not sure). But also, this blog is pretty much the place to find The Best Advice Ever.

If I’m having a problem? You guys have a suggestion. Done something REALLY embarrassing as a parent? You’ve done it too. Been confused about something I saw on TV, wondering what to read? You have the answers. Take for instance my blog from Friday. I complained about Photoshop being too complicated for my wee brain. You (a reader named Jenny, specifically) said try Picasa (among other great suggestions). And voila!

The internet. It’s a good thing. (Usually.)

Now here it is Sunday, after a weekend spent…well, facing the inevitable, insurmountable truth that every single time my husband leaves town and I’m parenting solo, my daughter gets sick. It is predictable as the tides, I swear to you. No sooner does he pull out his bag that she gets the sniffles, and the further away he gets the higher her temperature climbs. Throw in a bit of puking and you can see why I’m hoping he’ll stick close to home for awhile. I’m not sure WHY this happens, other than the universe just likes to see me scramble. Because everyone of course wants to help me out when he’s gone…unless it means getting sick themselves. Which I totally get. A three year old isn’t really the best at, say, sneezing into her elbow or NOT wiping her nose on YOUR arm. Thank goodness for my sitter Kelsey, who was not daunted and brought her self-proclaimed “great immune system” over here to spell me for a few hours. Sasha’s feeling better now, at least—she’ll be FINE by the time husband arrives home, just watch—so all I can do is just drink Emergen-C, try to get as much sleep as possible, and hope I am not feverish myself in the coming days. Oh please, please, please. It’s my first trip to New York in ages! I need to work! Please?

(It just goes to show my utter hubris that I think that the forces that decide such things read this blog as well. Get over yourself, Dessen.)

However, my husband was gone for a good cause, even if he did get to escape the snotting and sneezing. He was off handling the inaugural track appearance of the www.sarahdessen.com sponsored race cars:

I swear, every time I see those pictures I giggle. I can only imagine what the crowd at these events (which I can imagine is NOT thick with girls who read my books, just a hunch) is thinking as these cars zoom past. Pink? Legs? More pink? In a world full of cars sponsored by car part and tire companies, they certainly stand out. But just wait until we get the cover of What Happened to Goodbye on one. My friend Evan, the main driver, put it thusly: “There will be a girl’s butt on my car.”


Okay, I’m going to take some more vitamins and lay down for a few minutes. It can’t hurt, right?

Have a great night, everyone!