...I learned from Marilyn Munster.

There is nothing wrong with being a little bit unusual. * It doesn't matter what other people think about what you love; it's what you think that really matters. * It's okay to be the blonde one sometimes. * Monsters are people, too. * Being black and white doesn't mean you can't be pink inside. * Loyalty counts. * The people who really care about you will continue to care, no matter how much of a freak you are. * Start every day with a smile. * There is magic in the petulant head-tilt. * Always run towards the explosions. * If everyone is screaming, things are probably about to get interesting. * You can hide lots of knives in a ruffled gown. * No one gets to define what's normal for you. * Stereotypes are funny. * Life is good, so enjoy it while you can. * Other people's prejudices are not actually your problem. * Some people only see appearances. It's best to feel sorry for them. * When someone leads an angry mob to your doorstep, it's okay to scold them for carrying lit torches in a residential area. * Be comfortable with your surroundings. * It is perfectly possible to be a horror movie girl while wearing pastels. * White pancake makeup is totally optional. * Blood is actually good for hair; it strengthens the follicles. * Never underestimate the power of big blue eyes. * Or having a seven foot tall uncle who looks like he was raised from the dead. That doesn't hurt either. * Family counts for everything. * Running in high heels is a life skill. * Hydrogen peroxide gets blood out of almost anything but taffeta and white cotton. * A good wardrobe is key. * Be yourself. In the end, that's what actually matters.

What important lessons did you learn from your personal media icons?

I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, land of a thousand climates and master of none. This Saturday, I hopped a train to Sacramento, a much warmer, flatter, still frequently blessedly rural area. (Lest someone from Sacramento think I'm insulting their home territory, believe me when I say that this is anything but disrespect. I love farms, I love pumpkin patches, I love goats, and I hate that my semi-rural home town has turned into a small city where empty lots are strange and livestock is stranger. From me, 'rural' is a compliment the size of Neptune.) Michelle met me at the Sacramento station with Kaia in the car, and we went straight to the pumpkin patch from there.

If you're in the Sacramento area, especially if you have kids (or like goats), I can't recommend the Fog Willow Farm pumpkin patch highly enough. They had the biggest hay mattress I've ever seen, goats, a free hay ride, goats, a hay pyramid, goats, enormous numbers of pumpkins, goats, St. Bernard puppies, goats, and they have a special free pumpkins club for kids under thirteen. Not better than Disneyland, but more fun than your average carnival.

Now, Michelle and company are in the process of moving (something I can't really help with, since I have multiple herniated disks in my lower back). We returned to the house to find David (Michelle's husband) and Matt busy unpacking the truck, and Michelle settled to help and juggle Kaia while I retreated to the back bedroom to work on the end-to-end revision of Late Eclipses of the Sun.

(Late Eclipses is shaping up to be entirely awesome, by the way. Seriously, while I may not appreciate this stage of the revisions -- it's a lot of climb for very little immediate cookie -- there's something fabulous about being able to stop, look down, and see a vast expanse of clean, crisp text stretching out behind me. This book is getting stronger all the time, and should provide a really stable foundation for The Brightest Fell, aka, 'book five.' No, I do not sleep.)

I've reached that stage of revision where I'm catching tiny little continuity errors several times a chapter -- the things that were either too small to see when we still had bigger issues, or were accidentally introduced by the more violent edits and revisions. This led to me standing up several times, going to the living room, announcing, "Everything is stupid," and returning to my labors. Anyone who thinks writing a book is easy should really observe this fun and exciting part of the process. Of course, that'll probably cause them to seek a different career.

Sunday was a relatively low-key day, capped by a vigorous flight towards Berkeley for a birthday party. (The birthday girl was the one driving the car; Matt and I were literally along for the ride.) I ate tasty Indian food for dinner -- goat again, although this time it was goat going into my face, rather than goat going into a pen with all the other goats -- before going home with Kate and sleeping in her basement. The end result of all this? I was just away from the Internet for the longest single period of time where I was not a) at a convention, b) at Disneyworld, or c) camping in living memory.

I am now over one hundred pages of the way through the revision of Late Eclipses.

Life is good.