So I get excited pretty easily. In fact, pretty much anything that I’ve never tried before will get me enthused. So when I found out that my friend’s brother would take me for a ride on his motorcycle, my friends were all going “Whoa, Marni. Breathe.” Then they turned to him and said “Are you sure this is a good idea? Marni. On a motorcycle. Are you sure?” For the record, it was fantastic and I was just fine. Anyhow, my point is that I was plenty psyched about being on the radio. 

I had a plan in place to make myself as comfortable as possible. I woke up early, grabbed a mocha frappachino from Starbucks with my mom, and sat on the couch at the Jefferson Public Radio station headquarters listening to my music. My iPod was a necessity because the songs I had stuck in my head were not confidence boosting songs. I had a line from Andrew Bird’s song Heretics (thank god it’s fatal) and Fiery Crash (title says it all) playing in my head. 

Eventually they called my name and I went into the heart of the studio. And it was so much fun. I was sitting across from the interviewer with this plushy mic in my face trying not to start tapping my feet in excitement. I didn’t want the sound to mess up the interview. And then we were on air and I was trying not to punctuate everything with “uh” and “um.” Although I do think that I sounded like I had a mild stutter. Which I totally don’t have when I am not evaluating every word that leaves my mouth.

It was a rush talking about my autobiography and my life on the radio. It was even stranger listening to it later that night as I replayed my thoughts during my answers. Mainly I was thinking “stay cool, Marni.” Which, as most of my friends can tell you, I’ve never been particularly good at doing. Still, I think the interview went well and I’m pleased with it.

I was more pleased, however, to find my books in Barnes & Noble. Ever since I was a little kid my dream was always to have a book there. I thought that if it wasn’t in Barnes & Noble it wasn’t really legit. So, I guess I am finally legit.

And that’d be my expression when it sank in that one of my very first dreams had come true.

It’s a little weird accomplishing this at 19. Most people strive their whole lives to fulfill their dreams and I’ve been fortunate enough to have one of mine come hurtling towards me. The good news is that for every dream fulfilled there are a billion more that pop up in it’s place. Because now I want to be able to get my book the publicity it deserves. I want to talk to Oprah, and Ellen, and Jon Stewart and a billion other people that right now might not give me the time of day. And I really really really want to drink tea with Julie Andrews. Someday, I hope.

Anyhow, I stood in Barnes & Noble and happiness sort of rumbled through me and came out in the form of uncontrollable laughter. I was standing in front of the Teen Non-Fiction section, staring at my book, and all I could say was “I’m in Barnes and FREAKING Noble!” Again and again and again. It never got old to me. I’ve had a lot of amazing life moments but standing there signing copies of my autobiography with my mom snapping pictures was one of the best. 

So, I should go to sleep now. Really. I’m throwing a book launch party at my house tomorrow and that means I go straight into celebration mode after Saturday morning garage sales. Almost everything is ready. The streamers are up, the spray painted lanterns are hanging from trees, and the house is shining. All we need are people. I was kind of worried that no one would show up too. Except my grandma surprised me by flying in today and  ringing my doorbell. I thought she was going to be in L.A. and that I wouldn’t see her for weeks (probably months). So, I understandably freaked out. And now it doesn’t seem quite so important if people come or not. Because I got to read my dedication page to my grandma–and even an empty party couldn’t bring me down from that.

I’ll be sure to blog about the party though.

Hope I see you there!

Take care.

~Marni

Okay so something completely crazy just happened! No, I did not change my mind about Speedos. That will never happen and this is bigger than Speedos (insert inappropriate joke here). I just had the chance to glimpse what my life might have been like had I been a little braver just a few weeks earlier. Confused? Let me explain.

The first person I ever met with trich was my friend Stephanie who was on a cross country bus trip with me. Except it turns out she wasn’t. See, Stephanie joined halfway through the trip and one of my friend’s left halfway through the trip. So Haley never did meet Stephanie. Which is a shame since they both nice, warm, caring individuals that share a common obsession with Harry Potter. They would have instantly clicked. Why else is it a shame? Because it turns out Haley had a serious case of trich too.

I was sharing a room with Haley for about 3 weeks and she never figured out I pulled. I was using my bangs to shield the damage and I was really good at keeping it hidden. Thinking back I remember wondering a little whether she had trich but I was way too scared to ask. Because if she said she didn’t then I would just be the lone girl who pulled. And I already felt plenty alone and wretched because of my pulling. So I kept my mouth shut, and we separated in Chicago, and even though I thought she was a totally awesome person we didn’t keep in touch. Until a mutual friend from the trip encouraged people to check out my book through his facebook status. She saw what I had written and instantly friend requested me and we wound up talking until 1 in the morning (even though I was seriously sleep deprived after Andrew Bird).

It was surreal IMing with her about how freaking hard it was to hide pulling on the trip. How ashamed we both were of ourselves. The various lies we considered telling if anyone asked. And then we both said how much we wished we could have just told each other. How we wished this conversation had happened three years earlier. If I had been just a little bit braver three weeks earlier then I would have felt a lot less alone and she wouldn’t have had to wait until now to talk about it with someone her own age. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed our lives might’ve been significantly different.

So that’s the road I could have taken. And I’m sure that Haley isn’t the only person I didn’t connect with because I was too afraid. In fact, had this autobiography not come along I would still be pretending like I never pulled. Because when you are sure that everyone will be repulsed it is really hard to tell the truth. The cool thing is that I’m taking about it now. I’m dealing with it. And while I don’t feel particularly brave (I still have to pretend that people won’t see what I’ve written or find out that I pull) I know that I’m being braver. And, yeah, it might be three years later than I would have liked but now I know. Now more than ever before I get why it is so important for me to keep talking about trich . . . 

And Speedos. Did you really think I would stop mentioning those? If so, you are sadly mistaken. And just wait for me to get on the subject of (shudder) Jello! Which I do not consider either a salad or a dessert–merely disgusting. I know that many people disagree with me. But something that jiggles like that should not be digested. It just doesn’t seem right. Chocolate cookie dough on the other hand . . . that is bliss.

That’s all for now.

Take care!

Marni

I went to a concert last night. And it was absolutely wonderful. Partly because Andrew Bird is an amazingly talented musician/whistler (check out Oh No, Imitosis, and Heretics) and partly because I went with my good friend Heather. And while the two of us were both nominated at our high school for most likely to become an evil genius our planning skills leave much to be desired. So we ended up standing in front of the box office convinced that the other person had purchased the tickets (and found ourselves engaged in a Who’s on First bit of dialogue). Luckily it wasn’t sold out and I ended up sharing a blanket with Heather and a boy I hadn’t seen since high school. Now before you get excited, I’d like to tell you that I’d seen this particular boy in a neon orange Speedo at Model United Nations. And will forever be scarred.

Speedos are just one of many things that I don’t really understand. First of all, they look super uncomfortable. Secondly, they make everyone around you super uncomfortable. And thirdly, they are impossible to discuss later in life without feeling super uncomfortable. At the risk of sounding ridiculously repetitive, I’d like to say that they make me super uncomfortable. Am I crazy here? Let me know. 

Anyhow, the concert was amazing (even with the presence of Speedo Guy) and I noticed something wonderful: I wasn’t mentally writing. I do that a lot by the way. I’ll be at a party or a school dance and mentally be narrating everything. For example: When Marni stepped into the auditorium that smelled of sweat, aftershave, and the stench of desperation to be noticed, she wondered whether she would have been better off watching a chick flick for the billionth time instead.

And while that gives me great practice describing places and people it can also be irritating as hell. Because I want to enjoy the dance without hearing some omniscient persons thoughts on the subject–even if that person is me. So when I just sat back and watched Andrew Bird without mentally describing his whistling it was one of the most relaxing things I’d done in awhile. 

Dealing with an autobiography is exhausting. Don’t get me wrong: I’m thrilled. I can’t wait for lots of people to read my blog (thanks for reading this far!) but it is also scary. Waiting to get reactions from my siblings, my family, my friends, and my mother’s friends is intense. Especially when I think about all the things I wrote in my autobiography that I’m pretending I didn’t include so I can hand out copies without blushing and burying my face in a pillow. Stuff that I find way more embarrassing than all my comments about a boy in a Speedo that I have already made in this blog. 

My sister Shayna did discuss the book with me. Much to my relief, she liked it. She had lots of comments but her overall opinion was in it’s favor. I was just hoping she wouldn’t feel like torching it so I consider her support a grand success. Now I just have to wait for the other responses to start pouring in. And try not to develop a twitch every time I hear the little ping that signals me I’ve got a new e-mail. I’d love to hear from you, though! So send me a comment and I’ll try to respond.

That’s all for now.

Take care!

Marni

Do you have any idea how stressful it is to write the first entry of a blog? If you’re me, it’s absolutely insane. Make it sound funny, and insightful, and witty, and interesting, and emotional—but not too emotional. And for the sake of the reader make sure to leave all angst at home! Which leaves me staring at a page riddled with twenty different ways to say the same thing: Welcome to my blog!

To those who know me it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that I am over thinking this. I over think a lot. Which is when I turn to my music or I watch an episode of whatever television show I can get my hands on to calm down. But since I am currently sitting in a car with my mom driving to Sisters, Oregon, watching episodes of House until I could fake my way through medical school is not an option.

So addictive! Especially when there are five seasons for me to catch up on!

So why am I on this road trip listening to Jimmy Buffet? Does it have anything to do with my autobiography, Marni, which will be hitting stores in August? The short answer: no.

See, I’ve been spending my summer babysitting and trying to write another novel.

And this is why I love to babysit!

And I was having trouble writing at home. Partly because of my newfound House addiction, partly because I was dealing with a major case of writer’s block, and partly because I’d rather be hanging out with the kids. So when my mom invited me to go to a cabin with her (and our dog Rascal) while she takes quilting classes, I couldn’t pass it up. Which means that I’m admitting myself into some kind of self led writing boot camp for the next few days. Something that I ordinarily resist—especially when my mom will be leaning over my shoulder to check my progress.

You might think since I want to be a professional writer that I relish opportunities to spend all my time writing. Which might be true for other people but which isn’t usually true for me. Clean my room or write? Six hours later everything will be gleaming and I’ll still be avoiding my laptop like the plague. Writing doesn’t always feel optional to me. Some idea worms its way into my head and then bugs the hell out of me until I deal with it. Or that’s how it’s been working on this new young adult fiction book anyhow. Writing my autobiography worked a little differently. Some of the pressure was gone. I didn’t have to worry about making things realistic because everything was real. Instead, I had to deal with my brother Jonathan’s phone calls.

Jon being a wonderful brother in Egypt . . . while the camera was rolling.

Most of them went like this:

Jonathan: Did you write about me?
Me: Yes, but not much. Jonathan: I’m your brother! Don’t you remember how I used to protect you from the others?
Me: You know my memories from when I was three are a little hazy.
Jonathan: I don’t want you to write about me at all then.
Me: Don’t worry you’ll like it.
Jonathan: I don’t want to be in your book! You have to change my name! I want you to call me Philip . . . or Mike.
Me (Not so patiently) I’m not calling you Mike!
Jonathan: I’ll sue you.
Me: You can’t, genius. I’m writing the truth.
Jonathan: No you aren’t. You’re delusional. It’s all going to be twisted around and when I run for president . . .

Yeah, it goes on like that for awhile. And yes, he will kill me if he reads this blog. And while he could be entertaining he could also be a huge pain to deal with when I was staring at the clock wondering how much sleep I could expect after I finished my French homework, read the Aeneid, and wrote a new chapter to e-mail to my fantastic editor Debbie Reber. Although, to be honest, juggling school and the book wasn’t as hard as I expected. Once I had deadlines I was fine. I work well when I know what the consequences will be (in this case, bad grades and a book that will never see the light of day). The hardest part of writing my autobiography in college was having to tell all my friends why I had been hired to write my autobiography. It’s really scary telling people that I have a stress condition called trichotillomania which leads me to pull at my eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair. Especially when you go to a small college where people will go up to you in the lunch line and ask for details. And I really didn’t want to be known as that strange freshman who literally pulls her hair out. I was much happier with the idea of being that strange freshman who was constantly spilling things in the cafeteria.

My friends were great though. They jumped up and down with me when I found out that Target, Borders, and Barnes & Noble would be carrying my book. Some of them even decided to preorder it on Amazon. Best of all, none of them treated me any differently. As far as they were concerned I was always just Marni. The best part about being open about it at Lewis & Clark was that I heard from a lot of kids who had trich too. Which was amazing for me. Even knowing that roughly a million people in the U.S. have trich it was one thing to hear the statistic and another thing entirely to chat with kids who have been pulling since preschool. So here’s my request to you: if you know anyone with trich or if you have it and want to ask me any questions, I’ll do my best to answer. Don’t feel like you have to write to me about serious stuff either. I’d be happy to hear about great bands, movies, television shows, books, my life, your life, anything. So question away and I’ll try to respond in a timely fashion. In the meantime, look for more blog posts. I’ll be here.

Until later,

Marni