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KITTY: Julie, first off let’s just be right up front: Are you a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom?

JULIE: Well, Kitty (she says, coyly, leaning back and crossing her legs while subtly adjusting the stiletto hidden in her boot), I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Super-secret, doncha know?

KITTY: What were you drinking when you came up with this idea, cause I gotta get me some?

JULIE: Ah, it wasn’t so much drinking as smelling. And that would be baby poop. (Aren’t you sorry you asked?) It’s amazing the things a mom’s mind spins during those potty training weeks. (The original title was Demons And Dirty Diapers. My agent insisted we change. Smart agent, my gal!)

KITTY: Okay, what were you smoking?

JULIE: Well, it sure as heck wasn’t diapers!

KITTY: Yeah, yeah. Then, where did the idea come from?

JULIE: Wal-Mart. Clearance aisle.
{{Ahem}}
Oh, you mean seriously?

Okay, I was trying to come up with an idea for a romance series to pitch as an option book. At the same time, chick lit was heating up, and I wanted in. But I was a new mom and wanted to do mommy lit.

So I had an idea about a team of guys who go out and hunt demons. And I had a character of a soccer mom. And then—much like that old Reese’s commercial—the ideas bumped together: A demon-hunting soccer mom! I sat down and wrote the first scene right then. On the whole, it’s remained essentially the same. Kate was born, and I absolutely adore her.

KITTY: Do you like soccer moms? Aren’t La Crosse moms cooler?

JULIE: Actually, I think cricket moms are probably the coolest. There’s that whole British thing going (or is La Crosse British? Excuse me while I hide my ignorance in my purse ...). And wouldn’t you rather have tea with scones and clotted cream than goldfish and apple juice? I know I would. My kids, though ...

Actually, the whole “soccer mom” thing was an issue before the book was published. Because the careful reader will notice that, in fact, no one in the book plays soccer. So my editor actually suggested changing the title to Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Suburban Mom. Just doesn’t have the same ring, and I balked (I can get really set in my ways; I’m obnoxious that way.) I googled “soccer mom” and wrote a mini-thesis on how the term doesn’t actually refer to the sport so much as it does a political slice of the population, and into that slice Kate clearly fit. I got to keep my title and, despite having quit the practice of law by that time, I also got to use all those lovely research and advocacy skills.

KITTY: Now the good stuff. Tell me about the Warner Brother Deal.

JULIE: Ah, that was a happy day. And ties into the whole pop culture thing I’m talking about in my second blog post. (How’s THAT for subtle?)

Seriously, I was blown away when the deal happened. The way it went down was this: I’d written a synopsis and about 30 pages of the book, and my agent sent it out to several publishing houses. If memory serves, this was in November of that year. Two days later, she got a call from Dreamworks asking her about “this Carpe Demon thing.” Being astute, she decided there might be Hollywood interest, so she retained a sub-agent. Originally, we’d planned to wait until the book was finished to shop it, but a few weeks after the Berkley sale, we decided to send it out in proposal form. About three days later, we knew that 1492 was interested, and the deal was done VERY fast after that! I remember when I got the first call from my agent, I was watching “the singing people” (aka American Idol) with my daughter.

I talked with the producers on the phone, and they really seemed to get Kate, which made me happy. So now it’s hot and heavy in “development.”

KITTY: If you could cast the book, who’d star?

JULIE: Originally, I saw Diane Lane, and she’s probably still the closest to what Kate looks like in my head. But I’ve been thinking about it more (duh) and I think there are a ton of actresses who could nail the role. Reese Witherspoon, Sandra Bullock, even Angelina Jolie (though she’s such an action star already that you lose the surprise factor of a kick-butt soccer mom). I can picture another gal I thought of recently, but I’m having a senior moment, and can’t think of who she is!

KITTY: Is California generally just more hospitable to demons? I thought Georgetown would have had a lot more blood-suckers.

JULIE: Nah, you need the mission trail. All that carrying of bodies and relics and other religious artifacts up and down the coastline. Here, you’d just get demonic cowboys. (I’m in Georgetown, Texas, btw. I think Georgetown in D.C. is where the bloodsuckers convene.)

Besides, if I’m no longer living in California near the beach, I want to live there vicariously. Through Kate. Who can protect me from the baddies!

KITTY: Rumor has it that in a former life you were a legal eagle. Care to elaborate?

JULIE: No.

{{Ouch. That hurts! Okay, okay! Just stop pulling a Jack Bauer on me!}}
Yes, I practiced law for mumbled mumble years before I finally took the leap to writing full time after the movie deal.

Actually, I had a very interesting legal career. I was the baby in my law-school class (I started at 20 and graduated at 22), so I couldn’t even drink my first quarter. And trust me, after a law school exam, you really want to go have a beer with your buddies. (And, of course, I followed the rules stringently. Law school, after all!)

After that, I clerked on the Fifth Circuit, which means I was a briefing attorney for the Honorable Samuel D. Johnson. I did that for two years, and it was awesome. Loved the job, loved the travel (to New Orleans, where the court sits). Then I moved on to California to a tiny little firm (haha) called Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom. Met brilliant attorneys and worked on some huge cases, but I craved a smaller environment, and eventually ended up at a boutique firm that did mostly entertainment and first amendment work. I worked on a defamation case that settled after we picked a jury (really interesting facts) and on another defamation case arising out of the Rodney King riots (in that one, I got to depose Darryl Gates, former LA Police Chief!).

I worked there until I got married, and then after the Northridge earthquake (which was really close to our apartment) my husband and I moved to Orange County (ah, those beaches ... the boardwalk in Laguna Beach is essentially the boardwalk in San Diablo, for those who like that kind of trivia!). There, I did more corporate related work, and people like Barry Gordy and Rodney Dangerfield no longer came to the firm Christmas party.

After that, I came back to Texas and worked at a small firm doing a variety of business-related litigation until I quit to write full time. (When I quit, I was working on a Medicaid case. I think it’s still pending. The long arm of the law is often slow ...)

KITTY: Chic-lit suspense.... I like the sound of that. Tell us a little about the blend.

JULIE: Well, Kitty. Ya gots your chick lit. And ya gots your suspense. And, um, you blend them.

My, but I am snarky, eh? Seriously, the chicklit part is really in the sensibilities of the characters. A hip sort of attitude and way of looking at life and, yes, a love of fashion. And the suspense comes from, you know, the fact that someone is out to kill them!

KITTY: And the titles (Givenchy Code, Manolo Matrix, Prada Paradox) are you a die-hard fashionista?

JULIE: Will you throw tomatoes at me if I say no? The truth is, I’ve had my fashionista moments, but these days I’m more sweat-pantinista. In L.A., I was total fashionista girl, with the fabulous wardrobe to prove it. Little by little, I’ve backed off. Probably has a lot to do with the fact that I no longer have to get dressed to go to the office. Now, I’m all about finding a pair of jeans that sit on my waist (what is with this annoying hiphuggers?) and wearing my Birks or my Wal-Mart flip-flops.

I do, however, love, love, love to shop. And to dress up, too. But only if I’m doing something more interesting than sitting at my desk or crawling on the floor with the kids. So conferences have become my excuse to buy new clothes. Which mostly hang in my closet.

Sigh.

KITTY: Can you get any of this stuff wholesale?

JULIE: Trust me, the flip flops are already really cheap.

KITTY: Can I?

JULIE: I love the little flowered-y ones. Very comfy. Go for it.

KITTY: You are one busy cookie. What are you doing next? How long before we get to read it?

Right now, I’m working on DEJA DEMON, which comes out in the summer of 2008. I have several other things in the pipe, but not at that shout out stage, ya know?

And as for this year, man am I busy with releases! June has HELL ON HEELS, which is an anthology I did with my critique partners, Dee Davis and Kathleen O’Reilly. It’s the sequel to HELL WITH THE LADIES, in which Satan is trying to retire, so he’s testing his sons to see which is worthy of inheriting his kingdom. Since they all failed (saved by love!) he’s now back, and testing his daughters. My story, Lucia, is about the devil’s assassin, his eldest daughter.

I also have an essay in EVERYTHING I NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT BEING A GIRL I LEARNED FROM JUDY BLUME. Personal and sappy about some medical stuff I went through as a teen. And, hey, it’s stuff I’ve never talked about outside of family and friends before. Wow. Sorta like gossip, huh?

KITTY: Do you have a pattern? Like one paranormal, one suspense, one young adult or do you fly with inspiration? Do you ever worry about crash-landing?

JULIE: No pattern. My next book is totally fueled by the next deadline. And, um, are you trying to jinx me? Well, too bad. You can’t, because yes, I worry all the time. I think it’s inherent in the writer gene. You have to worry. It is, I tell myself, a sign of sanity!

KITTY: Thanks, Julie! If you ever need help brainstorming, call. I am like incognesto with the dark side.

JULIE: Fab. Now, about the current demon’s evil plot. Let’s do lunch....

From the administration Kitty Kuttlestone crawled from under Sir John’s dinner table sometime this morning to file the following report.
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You can see I totally glammed up for the Oscars. Had a little work done. Collagen, Botox, my stylist worked on me ALL night (thank you, Raoul) but hell, it’s the Oscars, right. You got it, flaunt it.  Which leads me to the stars. I got to be honest here. Oscar 2007 was a complete bore-fest. No swans, no little Lord Fauntleroy outfits, just homogeneously gorgeous women. YAWN. The damn stylists are taking the fun out of the red carpet show. And yet, I was still able to find a few “She didn’t!” moments with which to instruct the Squawkers and any other of you fashionsistas out there. (They’re all getting ready for RWA: Kleypas is speaking, you know.)

After stealing General Tom Thumb’s ringmaster’s coat, Jennifer Hudson struggles to keep the little guy prisoner beneath her skirt. (Come on! Why else would a grown woman shove her hands in her pockets --and what gown has pockets?-- as she walked the red carpet? Honest, Jenn, take ‘em out! You’re even embarrassing me!)

Jane Goodall, on hiatus from her chimpanzee sanctuary in Africa, shakes hands with the Wicked Witch of the North’s great-great-great-great-great granddaughter.
(You know, in my heart of grizzled hearts, I understand the concept of “letting a little girl look like a little girl,” but the whole “letting a middle-aged woman look like a frump” thing has me pole-axed. What happened, Meryl Streep? When your grandkids give you homemade necklaces, you can take ‘em off for big people parties...)

Straight from Italy and the set of HERCULES UNCHAINED, AGAIN, JLo arrives in her Juno costume.

When stopped on the carpet and asked what she hoped for for the evening’s celebration, Miss Beyonce Knowles said, “Peace. World peace,” and then went on to explain the shell design of her banner spells out “Miss Peace” in some language only Miss Beyonce knows.

New mom Gwenyth Paltrow takes the fun child enrichment skills she’s been practicing to new heights by wearing a dress she origami’d herself.
(Good for you, Gwen, you’re wearing a bra)

Not to be outdone, Cameron Diaz, straight off a much needed post-Justin vacation on the beach, shows off a few tricks the waitress at the bar showed her how to do with napkins.

Openly thrilled to have signed on as “tall broad” in PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN V: WHATEVER, Nicole Kidman struts her stuff --and her scarlet macaw-- on the red carpet. The girl’s got a red thang goin’. (You guys did see the macaw’s head, didn’t you?)

When asked about the inspiration for her gown, Penelope Cruz said, “You’re kidding, right? It’s totally my seventh birthday’s Barbie Birthday cake with a real Malibu Barbie surrounded by oodles of frilly pink frosting. Only now I am the Barbie!”

There were some high high notes to SUnday’s little paean to consumerism. Helen Mirren completely bought it as THE QUEEN. In every way.

Kitty Kuttlestone back again. I’ve edited out a lot of meaningless drivel from the taped interview, which didn’t leave me with much, but for what it’s worth, here’s more of my conversation with Brockway about HOT DISH.

KITTY: So, you acknowledge that you weren’t real nice to Fawn Creek.

Connie: Kitty. Lis-ten car-ful-ly. Fawn Creek is a fictional town. Populated by fictional characters who are an amalgamation of a type.

KITTY: But you weren’t particularly flattering to them.

CONNIE: Oh fer-- I wasn’t flattering to anyone. No one got off, not the network guys, the station owner, her New York agent, no one. It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy book.

KITTY: Ohhhh. So you’ve got something against warm and fuzzy?

CONNIE: NO! Look, Kitty I enjoy odd, quirky characters that are not always easy to like, ergo you presence in my life. I like dark humor and I like piling on increasingly bizarre plot points and only feel I’ve been successful if I can bring it on home without the reader pausing, scratching her head, and muttering, “That couldn’t really happen.” I want people to go. “As weird as it sounds, I totally buy into this world, these circumstances and I know these people.”

KITTY: You still haven’t told us what you have against warm and fuzzy. Speaking of which, have you ever done Fuzzy Navel shots—?

CONNIE: No. And I’ve been trying to tell you that I like warm and fuzzy fine. It’s just not my nature to look at something sweet and cuddly without suspecting it has teeth and then trying to find them.

KITTY: Okay. You can’t write believable warm and fuzzy so your book is bitter and vindictive. Do I have it right?

CONNIE: No. No. No. Geesh. Look, let me try to explain it this way. My brother (who was a priest) once said something that really resonates with me:  “If only people understood that all our sins are the same and that no one’s thinking up new crap.”

I want to write about people who are imperfect, unreasonable, grudging, yet, when push comes to shove, manage to be better than they know themselves to be. .

Sound of snoring.

CONNIE: Kitty? KITTY?

KITTY: Wha—What? Huh. Oh. Got it. Now let’s talk about sex. That’s a nice hot little scene in the diner and in the fish house.

CONNIE: Thanks, Kitty. Coming from someone with your experience, I’ll take that as a compliment.

KITTY: Don’t get full of yourself. Though Steve Jaax is quite the hero. Sort of a egomaniac, but I like a guy with confidence.

CONNIE: Me, too.

KITTY: So...I heard rumors that you based Steve Jaax on an actor. Who?

CONNIE: I did. But I’m not telling.

KITTY: Fine. Clive Own?

CONNIE: Nope.

KITTY: Toby McGuire?

CONNIE: Please. He’s almost fifty.

KITTY: Toby?

CONNIE: No. Steve.

KITTY: Mel Gibson.

CONNIE: Please. Steve is tall.

KITTY: Donny Osmund.

CONNIE: Enough.

So, that’s it folks. The HOT DISH interview. Brockway never did tell me who Steve Jaax was based on. Maybe some of you would like to take a guess. Whether or not you’ve read the book. Anyone bull’s eyes it, I’ll send them my copy of HOT DISH.

I caught up with Connie Brockway at Portia’s Bar in Fawn Creek, Minnesota where a group in the parking lot were burning her in effigy—not that she didn’t deserve it. Have you read HOT DISH? ‘Nuff said. Anyway, she was barricaded inside, drowning her sorrows (“I don’t understand why they’re all mad at me!”) in a vat of Leinies.

I wasn’t too interested in Brockway’s solo pity-party but I was mildly intrigued by that vat of beer, especially when prefaced by a quart of tequila. So I sat down and interviewed the sorry (expletive).

I got Kleypas to transcribe the tape because I’ll be damned if I can make out Brockway’s mumbling and figured Kleypas was used to it.

KITTY: Okay. Just tell straight up. Why’d ya do it?

CONNIE: I dunno. Peer pressure, I guess.

KITTY: Yeah, I guess I can understand that. You see other people doing it and you think, “(Expletive,) why not me? I can do this.”

CONNIE: Exactly. But, you know, you’re young, you experiment a little…

sound of snorting KITTY: Young? Yeah, I guess. For dirt, maybe.

CONNIE: Now, I kinda wish I hadn’t.

KITTY: I just bet you do. Don’t beat yourself up too bad.  I mean, hell, you gotta have said to yourself, “Dodd, Medeiros, Kleypas, they’re all trying it. Why not me?”

CONNIE: Kley--? Huh?

KITTY: (Expletive),) before you know it, James’ll be doing it, too. And I know Bevarly is licking her chops to do a medieval.

CONNIE: Wait. You’re not talking about… What are you talking about?

Long pause. KITTY: What are you talking about?

CONNIE: You first.

KITTY: Your new direction. The contemporary? HOT DISH? You were saying you wished you’d been a klinder, gentler Connie.

CONNIE: My book?! Hell, no. I love that book. I’m very proud of that book. What a crappy thing to say!

KITTY: Ooo. Color her “indignant.” Almost as indignant as your Fawn Creekians, eh, Brockway?

CONNIE: What?

KITTY: Regrets, I’ve had a few...

CONNIE: I said I love that book Get the limes out of your ears, Kitty.

KITTY: Is that where I put those? You’re ballsy, Brockway, I’ll give you that. Have you seen the people out there? You are not well loved in this little burg.

CONNIE: What? What the hell are you talking about, Kitty? Just where do you think we are?

KITTY: Portia’s Bar, looking out at a parking lot full of men –at least, I think their men. Hard to say in the snowmobile suits- waving pitchforks and shouting for your head. Where do you think we are?

CONNIE: I know where we are. We’re in my porch overlooking the backyard while David –not in a snowmobile suit, by the way—is blowing leaves off the lawn.

Pause. KITTY: You’re kidding.

CONNIE: Nope.

KITTY: Really? Wow. He looks like a bunch of guys—

CONNIE: You’ve finally done it. You’ve completely pickled your brain. You are totally delusional.

Longer pause. KITTY: Yeah? So. That doesn’t mean I’m still not the best damn interviewer you have. So, let’s get down to it, Brockway.

Sound of a heavy sigh. CONNIE: Crap. Will you promise to leave if I answer a couple of your stupid questions?

KITTY: Promise.

Oops. Wow. Look at this thing! It’s hugely long. And Brockway’s answers weren’t all that inspired anyway. So, I think I’ll just cut it short there. Maybe I’ll post a few of her less stupid answers later today. If I’m awake...

You can visit Brockway’s website at www.conniebrockway.com to read an excerpt.

While we’re at it: Have any of you read HOT DISH?