Isabel Jordan
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The real essentials for surviving a blizzard  

2/25/2016

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We’ve all seen those frantic pre-blizzard shoppers at the grocery store. You know the ones I mean. I’m talking about the women fist-fighting over the last loaves of bread. The dude loading his shopping cart with enough gallons of milk to destroy all the lactose-intolerant folks in the country. These shoppers (who will grab a 2-liter of soda out of your hands and run away with it like it’s a bar of pirate gold) are blizzard virgins. The rest of us, those who’ve survived a few blizzards, know what you REALLY need to survive when your doors are covered in ten-foot snowdrifts. But for all you virgins out there, here’s what you’ll need:

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Acceptable reasons for bothering me while I’m writing include:  

2/17/2016

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  1. Blood, death, and/or dismemberment (and if it’s dismemberment, it better be important parts. No pinky toes, or fingertips)
  2. You have the perfect plot point to get me past my writer’s block
  3. You bought me a box of warm, fresh-from-the-bakery doughnuts
  4. Hugh Jackman is at the door, asking for me (would also accept Chris Hemsworth or Ryan Reynolds)
  5. The Publisher’s Clearinghouse people finally showed up with my giant novelty check  
  6. A special off-season episode of Game of Thrones is running (like, now)
  7. The house is on fire (and it better be a BIG fire, right outside my office--because if it’s only a small fire at the other end of the house, I’ll be pissed)
  8. You want me to piss me off (note: this will result in you being killed off--horribly, embarrassingly--in my next book)
  9. Stephen King is on the phone and wants to give me his secret for publishing so many brilliant books so fast
  10. The giant spider in my basement (aka: the Source of All Evil) invited his friends over, and it’s time to surrender the house to them
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Job opening: “Moms” needed immediately!

2/17/2016

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​Position:  “Mom” (alternate titles include: “Momma”, “Mommy”, and “Mother”) 
Work hours: 24/7
Term: The rest of your life
Pay: The knowledge that you’re helping shape the life of a tiny human
Bonus potential: Occasional hugs and kisses

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Love the #DearMe movement. Here’s my contribution:

2/16/2016

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A list of things I’d like to tell my younger self:
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  1. Don’t get too attached to 21 Jump Street. Johnny Depp will get bored and quit, the show will go to hell, but you’ll be invested by that point and will watch anyway, thus wasting every Sunday night for 2 full seasons.
  2. Bangs aren’t for you. Trust me on this.
  3. Don’t refuse to wear your glasses while your braces are on out of vanity. Squinting at everything—and walking into shit like a dumbass—doesn’t make you look pretty, either.
  4. Your parents are right. About what, you ask? Doesn’t matter. They’re right, you’re wrong.
  5. Those girls you think are your best friends? You know, the ones who are nice to your face, but  constantly undermine your self-confidence and say nasty things about you behind your back? Yeah, they suck. Stay away from them.
  6. You’re not going to marry Jon Bon Jovi. Sorry, but it’s true.
  7. The stories you write aren’t stupid. Keep writing them. (Except the bad fanfiction…that’s stupid and you should stop writing it)
  8. Stirrup pants are evil.
  9. Don’t be afraid to be smarter than the boys. They won’t stop liking you because of it. (They might stop liking you because you’re squinting like an idiot all the time, though)
  10. Don’t wear the mullet-skirted, shiny green satin prom dress. The pictures will haunt you for years.
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Mood Music

2/14/2016

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10. Downfall—Matchbox 20
Best dark, brooding lyrics:
Be my savior
I’ll be your downfall

9. Demons—Imagine Dragons
Best dark, brooding lyrics:
Don’t wanna let you down
But I am hell bound

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Would you keep reading?

2/14/2016

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Would you keep reading a story that started like this:

Normally, Laney Walker would laugh at the thought of standing on a werewolf’s doorstep while wearing a red-hooded cashmere sweater.

Hell, she could think of a half dozen Little Red Riding Hood jokes and at least one vaguely dirty limerick about being eaten by the big bad wolf without even trying. But today wasn’t a normal day, and Laney was too annoyed and freaked out to laugh as she pounded on her neighbor’s door with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary.
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Her relationship with said neighbor and werewolf, Declan Murphy, wasn’t what one would typically classify as…well, neighborly. He’d lived next door to her for the past two years, and they’d never exchanged actual words. To date, they’d only communicated through baked goods…

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