Book Brief (and, Mom, please write a review)

The shameless self-promotion that goes along with writing a book has been more challenging than I expected—and it's something I procrastinated actively engaging in for the first few months. Handing copies of to Mormons, with LOVE to my neighbors and LDS friends left me feeling anxious as I waited for their reactions to trickle in. Prior to the book's release, a few people heard that I'd written something about Mormon culture through the lens of a nonmember. "Is this like The Help?" one woman asked. No, but I wish it was as good as The Help. I was proud of how I handled the content so my reluctance to peddle my product wasn't rooted in false modesty, but the last thing I wanted was for my neighbors and friends to feel at all betrayed or like I'd been exploitative. I'm happy and you-have-no-idea-how-relieved to report that all is well. We don't have to move!

And it's time for me to hustle my book. Word-of-mouth marketing has been effective and sales have increased each month. The feature article I wrote for LDSLiving Magazine's November/December 2011 issue was well received and generated more interest in the book and my writing in general. A portion of the article is currently on their website. LDSLiving asked me to blog for their online readers as the Non-LDS Neighbor. I've submitted a few pieces and am waiting to hear from the editor.

Feedback has been overwhelmingly positive for to Mormons, with LOVE from both members and nonmembers. I started the book three years ago so it's serendipitous that we have an LDS presidential candidate and The Book of Mormon Broadway Musical is doing so well.

Here are a few photos from the book launch in October.

Ta-Da!Repeating in my head..."you're" is YOU ARE.

It was an exciting evening and I tried to look comfortable as I signed books for the first time. My brain recalled memories from high school yearbook signing parties, so that's what I did. Hey, Jenny! You look terrific. Love your purse. Thanks for taking a peek at my book. You're the best! Have a super great month and enjoy the read. Your friend 4-ever (even though we just met!), Chrisy Ross.

Book signings are humbling. I'm still amazed that someone wants me to sign a book. My own mother commented recently, "I can't believe you didn't sign the book you sent to your father and me." I said, "YOU'RE MY MOTHER. You really want me to sign your book?" She said, "I guess not."

This Saturday, February 4th, from 1:00-4:00 PM, I'll be at the South Towne Barnes & Noble store in Sandy for an Authorpalooza event. I'd love to sign a book for you like we sat beside each other in biology class, grossed out by the fetal pig dissection, and we're parting for summer break. I'd also be thrilled with a simple hello. Swing by if you're in the area.

AND, one final request.

If you've read to Mormons, with LOVE, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the book and want to help me hustle, please take a few moments to write a review on Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, and/or DeseretBook.com. Reviews facilitate book sales. And if you think a friend or two might enjoy the read, please recommend the title (via Goodreads, Facebook, Twitter, casual conversation, etc.,) or share your copy with someone. Books are happiest when circulated!

NOTE TO MOM: If you write a review for me on Amazon, I'll sign your book. Love, Chrisy

Setting Sail

When I was eight I had two pet hamsters, Mike and Tina, named after the most popular and beautiful second graders I knew at the time. The hamsters seemed happy with their view of my small bedroom on 20 Woodcrest Avenue in Winchester, Indiana. But they didn't live long.

One 1970-something spring afternoon, I decided to decorate Mike and Tina's house with flowers. I chose tiny Lily-of-the-Valley from my mother's garden, propping up a few of the delicate stems in the corner of their cage.

The next morning the hamsters appeared to be sleeping in. I opened the cage door and gently poked Mike, then Tina. They didn't wake-up and they felt stiff.

My mom arrived on the scene seconds after I called for her. She confirmed my fear—Mike and Tina were dead. Before she left to find a small box I could use to bury them in, she noticed the flowerless stems on the cage floor.

"Chrisy, what are these?" she asked as she picked up the stems.

I told her about the pretty white flowers, and how they were just the right size to decorate a hamster cage. I told her that Mike and Tina loved the flowers, actually nibbled on the blossoms, so I had picked more from the garden for them before bedtime.

"Were they Lily-of-the-Valley?" Mom asked.

"I don't know."

We walked to the backyard and I showed her the flowers. That day I learned that Lily-of-the-Valley, while delicate, fragrant, beautiful and the perfect size for a hamster's cage, is also poisonous. I had accidentally killed Mike and Tina.

*****

One evening in early December 2011, my son, Parke (14), held his pet parakeet in the palm of his hand until the sick bird died. Parke was in no way responsible for Wren's death, but I could tell he felt like there was something he could have done...should have done. Parke was an exemplary bird parent. He spent time with Wren daily for almost four years, teaching the little bird to trust him, whistle tunes, and say a few words.

In hindsight, there were signs Wren wasn't feeling well leading up to his death, but Chris and I were traveling, life was busy and the signs went unnoticed. I'm the one home during the day while the boys are at school. I now recall hearing less mid-morning chirping as I put laundry away in the boys' rooms.

Parke's sadness over losing Wren was radically deeper than what I felt when my hamsters died. I had only owned my pets a few short months and they'd seemed slightly afraid of me—the experience was troublesome, but abstract. Wren's death—the dying—was heavy and real for Parke. It was painful to watch him feel. (I have his permission to share.)

Parke and I talked about grief, death, healing, heartache, religion, and belief systems—all topics we'd discussed prior.

*****

A month earlier I had purchased a sympathy card for a friend who'd lost her mother unexpectedly. I made note of the beautiful Henry Van Dyke quote on the front of the card before mailing it. My intention is not to compare the loss of a person with the loss of a pet. But as I think of the people I've loved and lost, and as Parke thinks of Wren, we both find a measure of comfort in this...

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, 'There, she’s gone.'

Gone where? Gone from my sight...that is all. She is as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her: and just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'There, she’s gone,' there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!'

And this is dying.

--Henry Van Dyke

The MorphOsuit

Redmond (6) gave me his Christmas list a solid month before the big day. There were only a few items on the list, one of them a "morphosuit".

"Where would Santa find a morphosuit?" I asked.

"I don't know, but he will. Or he'll make one. Santa can do anything."

I assumed the suit was something created in Redmond's imagination. A magical cloaking device that would allow him to become invisible, fly, float, battle bad guys, or just look cool.

As Christmas approached, I reminded all three boys that they should refine their lists—add or eliminate items—and to remember that just because they want something didn't mean they would get it. They understood. Except, Redmond refined his list to two items and one of those items was still a morphosuit.

"What's a morphosuit?" I finally asked him.

"I don't know."

"Where did you see one?"

"In the Thanksgiving Day Parade . . . on TV."

I found out that Redmond saw people in the parade wearing solid color spandex-y suits. Blue and green specifically. He was intrigued, asked his older brother, Parke, what they were and Parke told him morphosuits. And so was born the desire to have one of his very own.

I chatted with Parke about the suit. Turns out he wasn't making up stories—something I had suspected. The suits were legit. Only, the spandex get-up is called a Morphsuit, not a morph-O-suit.

Santa came through for Redmond on Christmas morning. Our boy quickly overcame a feeling of slight disappointed that the suit was black, not purple, and then he was overjoyed. Especially when he discovered the purple wig, orange sweatbands, and silver glasses.

Morpho-Boy!Mary can't stop staring.We spent the rest of Christmas day adjusting to the sight of a little kid running around the house covered from head to toe in black.

Morpho-Boy coming through!

Playing with his Leap Pad Explorer (the other item on his Santa list) at the dinner table.

Playing Wii

Fighting over the Wii remotes.

Mary still can't stop staring.

But my mom will still kiss him.Now we all want one.