The spring Equinox newsletter launched today. This issue includes some of my favorite links from the last six months, an update on upcoming writing for this year, and a new "Speaking for All Christians Exactly Like Me" column, on Netflix's new series, Love Here's a preview:

The perfect example of Love's ethos comes during a scene in “The Date,” the fifth episode of the series, in which Mickey is talking to her friend Syd, a sort of older, post-addict mentor who shares cigarettes and wisdom with Mickey after she puts her son to sleep.7 “Oh my God,” Syd says. “If I have to read my kid The Giving Tree one more time I’m going to blow my brains out. I don’t even know why he likes it; it’s not fun. It’s depressing.” At first I was sort of annoyed by this line, mostly because I love The Giving Tree and don’t like to see it disparaged in public. But I realized after a little while that such a comment makes perfect sense in the Love universe. Outside of the Gospels, The Giving Tree might be the most famous American story ever written about self-sacrificial love. The Tree gives everything that it has for the good of the Boy that it loves, though it receives nothing in return. And this kind of act is complete poison to the characters of Love, a death that must be avoided at all costs.

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The story below was originally published a few years ago, when I was still in my phase of writing really weird stuff. (Okay, I've never left that phase.) It was subsequently put into a little ebook, taken offline, and then the ebook was discontinued as well. Recently someone from France asked for it, and since I don't know a lot of people in France, I figured I'd dig it up and maybe make some friends.

Often times when I’m writing, I’ll start out with one idea, only to find myself writing something completely different by the time I finish. This story was originally about a wedding between Han Solo and Princess Leia, then it morphed into a wedding between two extreme Game of Thrones fans, and then it turned into this. Whatever this is.

---

So Stephen King, Nicholas Sparks, and George R. R. Martin were sitting in a bar. Turns out they were really good friends.

“Guys, I’ve got a problem,” R. R. Martin said. “Everything I write these days is horribly violent and depressing. Blood flows, cities burn, people keep having sex with their family members. And I can’t stop killing off characters. And not boring, side characters that no one actually cares about. Main characters. I think I’m secretly depressed.”

Sparks put down his Zima and clapped R. R. Martin on the back. “Not to worry, buddy,” he said. “We’ll help you out, right Stephen?”

“Totally,” King said, ordering another bloody Mary. “We’re all storytellers, right? Let’s write a story together, something with a happy ending, something to cheer you up. How about a wedding scene?”

“Great idea!” Sparks said. “Okay, picture this. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, and everything is ready for the wedding of Noah and Allie. They had the rehearsal dinner the night before, and--”

“What kind of food did they have?” R. R. Martin asked.

“That’s not important,” Sparks said.

“If you’ve read my books, you’ll know how ridiculous I think that statement is,” R. R. Martin said, brushing onion ring crumbs out of his beard. “Was there a beheading or a poisoning at this feast?”

“It was a rehearsal dinner, not a feast, and no. There were no beheadings or poisonings, no dragons or white walkers, no one ate horse hearts and no one committed adultery, incestuous or otherwise.”

“But the dinner party did have an unwelcome guest in the form of a mysterious man in black,” King said.

“No, you guys are terrible at this,” Sparks said. “Look, the rehearsal dinner went really well and everybody had a good time. I mean, yes, Allie did specifically ask for a restricted menu and the restaurant let everybody order off the regular menu, which wouldn’t be a big deal, except Uncle Billy kept ordering expensive drinks, and fine, whatever, she was happy to pay for it, but if you’re going to order a drink you could at least finish it before you order the next one.”

“I’m bored with this already,” King said.

“Can you just tell me what they had for dinner? I really need to know,” R. R. Martin said.

“Fine, they had Chicken Kiev and roasted asparagus in lemon sauce.”

“And rat sausage,” Double-R Martin said.

“Can we move on? Okay, so it’s a sunny, beautiful day. Rows of white chairs line the green grass atop a cliff, overlooking a sapphire blue sea.”

“Is it in Maine?” King asked, practicing sinister faces in the reflection of his beer bottle. “Let’s make the wedding in Maine.”

“No, it’s somewhere far more romantic. Like...North Carolina.”

“What a surprise.”

“Shut it, King,” Sparks said. “So the guests begin to file in, taking their seats. The simple folk on the groom’s side contrast sharply with those on the bride’s, for Allie comes from a wealthy family of southern tobacco farmers and Noah is nothing but a common, insanely handsome shop boy whose deep blue eyes can pierce the soul of everyone but Anne, Allie’s cold and distant mother.”

“Is Anne from Maine? Let’s make Anne from Maine,” King said.

“No, she’s from Tennessee,” R.R. Martin broke in. “The product of an incestuous relationship between--”

“No incest!” Sparks snapped. “She just wants the best for her daughter, that’s all. Financial stability is important to women.”

“Plus, she’s been suffering from a gypsy curse,” King said, cracking his pale knuckles. “If her daughter marries, the hair on her body will begin to grow uncontrollably. It will overwhelm her, growing too fast for her to cut it, until she slowly suffocates in her own auburn locks.”

“No, it’s just the financial stability thing,” Sparks said. “Jeepers, try to think of something beautiful for once in your life.”

“Okay, okay, I got this,” R. R. Martin said. “Let’s say there’s a...lighthouse nearby?”

“Yeah that’s good,” Sparks said, nodding encouragement.

“You know, there are a lot of lighthouses in Maine,” King said.

“Shut up, Steve. Go on, George.”

“It’s an older lighthouse,” R. R. Martin said. “Vintage and beautiful, its white stone worn rough and cracked by the ocean breeze. A young ring bearer stands next to the lighthouse, waiting for the wedding to start. He’s a perfectly healthy, nice kid whose parents are totally married and totally not related to each other.”

“This is the most boring story ever,” King said, getting up to leave.

“And they’re from Maine,” R. R. Martin added.

“Nice, I’m back in.”

“Bored, the boy begins to climb the lighthouse wall, his fingers and toes finding all the best grips and footholds.”

“Please tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going,” Sparks said.

“Up he climbs,” R. R. Martin continued. “Higher and higher, to the very top of the tower, where he looks out over the sparkling blue water.”

“And then he comes down safely,” Sparks said. “Learning nothing sinister or depressing.”

“And then he finds a magic amulet hidden in the rock,” King suggested. “Which bears an ancient--”

“Don’t say it,” Sparks said.

“--gypsy curse, and--”

“You’re both wrong,” Martin interrupted. “He hears a strange noise coming from the lighthouse window. He circles around, fifty feet of empty air yawning beneath him. He reaches the window, and when he looks through it, he sees the bride and her brother--”

“Worshiping Satan and preparing for the summoning of a demon, for the bride is actually a gypsy!” King cried.

“No, actually they’re--”

“Crying on each other’s shoulder,” Sparks said. “Because they’ve just resolved decades of cold, distant feelings stemming from the brother’s poor treatment of Noah and his tacit regret over never having a brother of his own.”

“No!” R. R. Martin said. “They’re actually hatching a pair of beautiful dragons. They are perfectly healthy, nice young dragons whose parents are totally not related.”

“Well, this took a bit of turn into the fantastic,” Sparks asked.

“Like the stories you write are any more realistic?” King said.

“Touché,” Sparks said.

“And the dragons walk her down the aisle,” Martin continued. “And it’s a pleasant, lovely ceremony, and they kiss and everyone claps. Then they go to the reception, where there’s goat roasted with lemon and honey, and grape leaves stuffed with raisins, onions, mushrooms, and fiery dragon peppers, potted hare and honeyed chicken, with apple crisps and black cherries and sweet cream for dessert.”

“You know, George, I think you may be feeding your depression with food,” Sparks said.

“No kidding, Sparky,” King said “But how does it end?”

“Do they live happily ever after?” Sparks asked. “And die in bed together at a ripe old age after living a full and happy life?”

“Does Noah become an alcoholic?” King asked. “Or get hit by a van? Or start inexplicably writing himself into a beloved fantasy series?”

R. R. Martin shook his head. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “Give me another one to six years. I’m sure I’ll figure it out by then.”

The Nothing Sword is now available on Amazon.com in both print ($14.99) and eBook ($3.99) form.

• The Nothing Sword – eBook
• The Nothing Sword – Print

I hope you enjoy it. And a huge, gigantic, blue-whale size thank you to the following people for all their help.

To Marley Cox, for taking my terrible sketches of maps and making them beautiful.

To Jordan Cox, for the awesome cover art and interior design of The Nothing Sword, and for putting up with the thousand emails that I constantly send about them.

To Kamron Kissamis, for editing The Nothing Sword so well in such a short time.

To everyone on my reading team: Paul and Yvonne Meuth, Alan Lin, Phil and Katie Lopez, Lauren McPherson, Ben Miller, and Jordan and Marley Cox—for your help in making this book better, and for your encouragement and support of what is otherwise a rather lonely endeavor.

And finally, and most importantly, to my wife Madelyn, for always being my first and most important reader, editor, party planner, and friend; for saying nice things about me to everyone so I don’t have to; and for countless meals, errands, chores, and hours spent taking care of our son and our lives so that I could write. God bless you, wife of mine, queen of my heart. I hope you like the book I wrote you.

Just two more days until The Nothing Sword, book two of The Nameless King trilogy is released. Here’s a couple sample chapters for those of you who want a preview.

Read Sample Chapters

You can find The Nothing Sword (both print and eBook) on Amazon.com starting December 10, 2015. Other retailers will follow.

Book Description

Rattle-tattle, shiver-shatter
        Hollow eyes and yellow rue.
Howler-fowler, cover-cower
        Nothing Sword is come for you!

—Children’s rhyme, Kor

It is nine years since the last Nightmare, and Cairn Meridia stands abandoned, its towers in ruins. Sent by the Living Tower, the remaining Meridian rebels struggle to survive among the hostile land outside their mountains, making enemies and allies in turn. Yet far to the south, Tjabo the Nameless, king of all Nora, moves in the shadows to snuff out the rebellion before it begins. For an ancient terror has returned—the Nothing Sword, pale and thin as evil itself, a weapon which strikes not at the body, but at the soul. Now the Meridians must put their faith in three unlikely thieves, who must travel deep into the heart of Tjabo's kingdom, and face the Nothing Sword head on.

Next Saturday, December 12, I'll be drawing winners for a few special edition hardcover versions of The Towers. The special editions will have the original cover art and some extra bonus material. Only seven of these will ever be made. If you want to win one, there are a three different ways to enter:

Sign up for my newsletter, The Equinox

I call this The Equinox because I only send it out twice a year, on the vernal and autumnal equinox. That’s basically mid-March and mid-September, but “vernal and autumnal equinox” just sounds cooler. In each issue, you can expect info on the stuff I’ve been writing, links to stuff I think you’ll like, and probably a poem or two. (Not by me. I actually want you to read it.)

• Sign up for my newsletter

Anyone who signs up before next Saturday will get one entry into the drawing. If you are already signed up for my newsletter, than you are already entered.

Come to the release party

The Nothing Sword book release party will be Saturday, December 12 at Fusion Brew coffee house in Normal, IL. Party starts at 6:00 PM, and all are welcome. We’ll have cake, hot beverages of various kinds, nice people, and good cheer. I’ll do a reading from The Nothing Sword starting at 7:30 PM. Anyone who signs in will get another chance to win a special edition book.

Donate to Home Sweet Home

We’ll also be collecting donations for Home Sweet Home Ministries during the release party. Home Sweet Home has been providing shelter and recovery services to homeless people in Bloomington-Normal for almost 100 years. Bring a donation, and you’ll get a third chance to win a book.

You can make donations in cash or check of any amount, or you can bring a donation of goods from the list below. We’ll be taking the donations to the ministry the following Monday.

• HSH Most Needed Items

So for those of you keeping track, you can get up to three entries into the book drawing: sign up, show up, or donate. Winners will be announced at the release party Saturday. No worries if you can’t make it. I’ll mail the books out later.

Questions?

Use the electronic relationship buttons to the right. I’ll answer when I can.

The Nothing Sword (Book Two of The Nameless King trilogy) will be released December 10, 2015. Here's a first look at the cover.

Special thanks to artist and designer Jordan Cox for this one. It looks awesome.

Book Description

Rattle-tattle, shiver-shatter
        Hollow eyes and yellow rue.
Howler-fowler, cover-cower
        Nothing Sword is come for you!

—Children’s rhyme, Kor

It is nine years since the last Nightmare, and Cairn Meridia stands abandoned, its towers in ruins. Sent by the Living Tower, the remaining Meridian rebels struggle to survive among the hostile land outside their mountains, making enemies and allies in turn. Yet far to the south, Tjabo the Nameless, king of all Nora, moves in the shadows to snuff out the rebellion before it begins. For an ancient terror has returned—the Nothing Sword, pale and thin as evil itself, a weapon which strikes not at the body, but at the soul. Now the Meridians must put their faith in three unlikely thieves, who must travel deep into the heart of Tjabo's kingdom, and face the Nothing Sword head on.

Dear Mother,

As you know, since my last letter our Father in heaven and the State of Illinois have graciously allowed me to become a father. It's quite impossible, of course, to really describe the experience. There's just too much going on at once, too much spit and milk and sleep and stress to get a handle on it.

Somehow, though, I expect I'll be describing it for the rest of my life, in various ways. Because really that's how I deal with love, if you didn't know. If I love someone (God or my wife or my son or myself or you or whoever), I write about them. I put them in essays and fairy tales. I throw a handful of dust up in the air and make a quick sketch of whatever invisible powerful thing it clings to for a few inspired moments. Then I throw the dust up again and again, in story after story, word after word, until I can sort of see, with all the sketches together, the rough shape of that love.

Which is all just a way of saying that I adore the little guy, and his stupid little face. Living with him has made me notice a lot of things, about him and myself and life in general. You can consider this the first few lines of the sketch. There will be more someday.

He doesn't poop, he shoots poop

What is it about babies that causes their poop to come out so forcefully? Is it just my kid? It's like the little guy has a small howitzer in his butt, designed to fire out poop at 1000 feet per second.

It's hilarious and annoying. Hilarious because it's super loud, and loud pooping remains funny to me at this stage of my life. Annoying because regular diapers are not made to withstand that kind of point blank explosive fire, and that leads to a lot of poopy clothes.

And heaven help you if your hand gets caught in the cross-fire while you're changing him. You might lose a finger.

I have to clean a lot of stuff

See above. He's also really good at waiting for the exact perfect second to start peeing whenever I change his diaper, usually after we've just washed the changing pad cover. It makes me really want one of those hospital beds with the tear-off paper sheets.

I don't know what the color yellow looks like, apparently

Two things you're supposed to keep an eye on with a newborn.

1. The kid's poop, which is supposed to be yellow. Supposedly the yellow color means the kid is getting enough to eat.

2. The kid's skin, which is not supposed to be yellow. Supposedly the yellow color means the poop is being stored in the kid's skin instead of properly exploding out of the colon cannon. Or something like that.

Either way, I have no confidence in myself to know if what I'm seeing is yellow or not. It all looks sort of orangish-yellowish-brownish-greenish-whitish to me, and his poop looks even weirder. The kid keeps getting fatter though, so I'm pretty sure everything checks out okay.

He's like a good painting

In the sense that I could basically just stare at him forever. It's really difficult to be bored when you have a baby. He messes with your sense of perception too. I remember the first time I got out of a really good art museum, looking up at the sky and feeling like it was painted on canvas. Staring at a baby for a long time does something similar, except everything looks enormous instead of painted. My wife's head has never looked so big. I swear that is not an insult.

He's bad at breathing

Really, really bad, to the point where you feel like you have to check to make sure he's alive every ten minutes. Either he's super quiet, and you can't hear him at all. Or he's super loud, and he sounds like he just finished a half-marathon with viral pneumonia.

He occasionally sounds like a tauntaun

Or he sounds like a tauntaun. If you don't know what that is, it's a giant, smelly ice creature from the planet Hoth which appears in Empire Strikes Back. Han Solo cuts one open and shoves Luke into its intestines to keep him warm. Anyway, my son sounds like one. Listen.

You really just have to hold him to be warm though.

Lights are most excellent

When he can focus his eyes at all (which isn't often), mostly he just stares at lights. The lamp, the window, that other lamp over there. Supposedly that's all babies can really see at this point, light and dark contrasts. I tried putting a headlamp on and shining it in his face on strobe setting to get him to look at me, but he just sort of blinked a lot and got upset.

Cold hands are the devil's work

He always screams and cries whenever I touch him with cold hands.

No wait, that's my wife. Forget that one.

He loves Lord of the Rings

How do I know? Because no matter how loudly he's crying or how upset he is, all I have to do is sing this song.

And he will stop and listen. More than anything, this is how I know he is my son.

Kissing a baby on the lips is hilarious

He just has no idea what to do with it. Sometimes he'll try to suck on your lip, and sometimes he'll burp on your face, and sometimes he'll get distracted by a lamp. Once I kissed him on the lips a bunch while he was screaming and crying, and he got so confused that he just gave up and fell asleep. Just like I do when I try to watch cricket.

You love me way more than I thought you did

I've always known that you loved me, of course, what with all the care and hugs and lessons and service and other parenting deeds. About a week in, I was sitting in the living room with the little chub laying on my chest, and my heart really, really hurt with how much love was in it. And then I sort of remembered how you must have felt the same way at some point, when your kids were born.

So really this letter is just to thank you for that, for loving me so much. I don't deserve it, and neither does my son. That's what makes it real love, I guess.

Your son,

Jordan

---

Jordan Jeffers writes letters to his mother on the Internet because stamps are a form of witchcraft.

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a column for McSweeney's Internet Tendency on Amish/Christian romance, "Ten Thousand Zombies in Bonnets." I wrote at some length on the models who grace the covers of these books, idly wishing that someday I might have the chance to talk to one, ask her all the questions I have.

Today is that day. Through the magic of the Internet, Claire DeBerg, actual Amish romance cover model, has graciously agreed to answer some of my questions.

---

Let's start off with the question that I'm sure we're all thinking: Are you a zombie?

Wow, you really cut to the chase. I thought we’d ease into that question over the course of our conversation. Let me answer with some insights so you can come to your own conclusion: I have spent a considerable amount of my life rocking in place with bloodshot eyes, and I may or may not have had drool extending from my mouth to the floor. But usually during those hours of Ultimate Rocking Monotony I had a baby in my arms, and it was occurring at an un-sane hour of the day like 3:06 am, so there’s that.

I see what you did there.

I have also been known to describe my children as tasty little morsels though I have yet to fully test that insight. And while I’m not entirely undead, I’ve oft described myself as having an old soul since I’ve lived a lot of life already by age 35 (but that’s an interview for another time).

Given what you know now…are you absolutely sure I’m not a zombie?

I'll just go with "not entirely undead." Okay, so, Amish romance cover modeling. Here's you on the cover of Beverly Lewis's The Prodigal. How did you get the chance to actually model for this book? Do you have an agent or know someone involved in the cover shoot? Is there like some sort of special classified section that lists job opportunities like this?

I am a model for a variety of different segments of our society: those who indulge in Amish romance novels, for instance, and those that want to, say, buy a tent at Target…or buy a lure! I was in a commercial for Rapala once.

But I digress.

I hadn’t honestly thought of doing modeling, especially after my friend in high school once snorted and said: “Models get paid to make other people feel bad.” Turns out that’s not true, but what is true is you get to choose what you consume in the media and then you even get to choose how to feel about it (gasp!). If you choose to give models the power to make you feel bad, well, then, good luck with that. While there are women who are super tall and super skinny they are not the majority of models…those women are the runway models and they’re incredibly fierce and awesome at what they do.

In fact, the vastly tall, terribly skinny profile is precisely what places like Target and Best Buy (the two largest retailers in Minneapolis) are not looking for in models. They want people who look normal…like the segment of the population they want to reach with their advertising...the people they want to buy their products (which is the overwhelming majority of the population). Not to say that those long and lean giants don’t buy towels at Target and TVs at Best Buy, but do those retailers want their ads to look like New York’s Fashion Week? No way. They want normal moms, nice dads. Ho-hum. So I guess what I’m saying is: I’m pretty normal looking. I’m not emaciated, and I’m not over 5 feet 9 inches (I’m 5 foot 8½ inches [but who’s measuring, right?]).

Let me pause briefly to thank you for using double parentheticals ([]). It's like the dependent clause version of Inception. Okay, continue.

So when an agent approached me from a modeling and talent agency (actually she came up to me on the dance floor at a wedding while I was possibly channeling a bit too much Elaine Benes), I considered her offer for a week or so and eventually decided, “Well, this could be fun.” And it has been fun because I’m not competing with anyone. I am reminded of the distinction between competing in a cross country race in high school because I had to and then years later just going out for a run around a lake…because I wanted to. The feeling of joy in the choice is incomparable. With modeling I’m at the run around a lake stage—I do it because I can and because it is fun and because I want to (plus the fringe benefits are pretty fantastic).

I’m 35, and I have some seriously delicious plans and dreams that don’t include wearing blankets of makeup and getting fitted for a shoot with clothes I’d never buy. Because I keep the opportunity to model fun, it remains a wonderful way to learn about the industry from a different view. Plus I can earn extra money (and yes, it pays very well but I’m too polite to talk dollar signs). I will say, though, that each of my family members has landed modeling gigs (my husband for Medtronic, my daughter for Tony’s Pizza, my son for Huggies) and we’re beautiful and we’re normal.

The singular reason I was approached was because the agent felt I looked the part that production houses are currently seeking: ethnically ambiguous. Am I Latina? Am I Greek? Am I Native? Am I Caucasian? Am I Middle Eastern? Am I Italian? Am I Brazilian? What’s your guess?

Didn't we cover this with the "not entirely undead" ethnic designation above? Although, I'm assuming that's not quite what they were going for.

Well, turns out it doesn’t really matter what ethnicity I actually am (I’m Cherokee) because it is a boon that I can’t be pegged by any one group. So I am accepted by nearly all groups.

Maybe for this Amish book cover the question posed to my agency was: Does she look Pennsylvania Dutch? When my agent sent me an email to see about my interest in modeling for this book cover, I knew she’d sent the same email to all her talent that fit her profile needs. She sought a woman, in her mid-30s, dark hair, dark eyes….AND the model needed to appear as the aged character from previous books in the series. In my agent's long list of talent she could narrow her email to a handful of potential models.

I let her know that yes, I could make the shoot dates work so then she sent me requests for very specific headshot poses as per the publisher:

• Facing camera, non-smiling
• Side profile, non-smiling
• Side profile, hair up
• Front, hair down

So apparently these pictures got me the job (thanks to my dear, sweet husband, Darren, who happens to be a really excellent photographer).

So explain what the process of actually shooting this was like. How long did it take? How many people were involved? How often did the photographer tell you to "look more wistful?" Did they put you in Amish shoes and socks, or just clothing from the waist up? How uncomfortable was your neck at the end of it?

This was a very interesting shoot. It took place in the photographer’s studio, which is located in his quite beautiful, spacious home, in the suburbs of Minneapolis. I was the only one on camera…there was no other talent there so I wasn’t able to swoon in reality to the hunky Amish chap in the background of the final cover.

So it was me, the photographer, the hair/makeup/wardrobe assistant, and the publisher hanging out on set. The assistant was very perfumey and adorable and when she wasn’t texting she was snapping her gum and explaining how she pretty much knows how to “do” authentic Amish hair because according to her rough calculations she has done the hair for “a million of these covers.” I went into the bathroom to get changed into my plain clothes and taped all over the mirror were several pictures of Amish women stuck there as inspiration. Since Amish people regard photographic images of themselves as sin given the 2nd commandment, all the pictures are of Amish women shot from very, very far away.

I put on my dress (backwards, at first…turns out the small buttons go in the front, not the back) and my little v-shaped coverlet, which goes over the chest like a chevron. I was actually wearing mukluks for the first few shots (I live in Minnesota, Jordan, mukluks are the winter uniform) but then the crew wanted me to do some slow turning and spinning so I ended up barefoot by the end of the shoot.

I love dressing up—and more specifically I like playing dress-up in costume-ish kinds of clothing over dressing up in fancy garb which is why this particular job was appealing to me. One idiosyncrasy about me is I do so love fashion, but I so do not love shopping. I’d rather eat my own hands than “go shopping” (as though shopping were a recreational sport). You’d think online shopping was my personal savior…alas, the types of clothing I like to wear can’t be discovered online. When I do find myself perusing the rack at my local consignment shop I specifically look for items that hang funny on the hanger or don’t look right on the hanger or have buttons in awkward places or a ridiculously scooped, open-backed situation or have zippers where no zippers need be. I like individual pieces of clothing and then bringing several pieces together to create some outrageous outfit that I can safely assume will not be on anyone else I might meet.

This is why I loved this Amish book cover shoot so much: because I was in costume. Most of the modeling jobs I land, wardrobe sends an email with a list of your own clothes to bring to set—but this was fun because it was character work and I gravitate to this kind of guise.

Anyway, before the camera shutter went haywire, the publisher caught me up on the premise of the novel…Leah, the main character and the woman I would represent, is raising her sisters after their mother has died and is faced with myriad challenges with her sisters: a stillborn baby, a young widow, a wayward youth, lots of family secrets, and barely time to think of falling in love herself. He asked for my deepest concerns in my personal life to emerge in how I held my body and let my face be the stoic yet hopeful answer showing tentative resolve.

Hold on, quick recap. He wanted, in one single expression: specific, multi-layered grief, loneliness, deep concern, stoicism, hope, and tentative resolve.

Did it come across? I’ve never had his kind of intense direction on a set previously. After two hours of turning and craning my neck and holding still, and drawing my brows down or smiling ever so slightly and 800-some-odd pictures later, they got their shot, and it was a wrap. No seriously, 800 pictures.

Ok, so here's the part where I ask a bunch of questions about the bonnet. Is it a real Amish-style bonnet? How long did it take them to get the bonnet situated perfectly on your head? What was it made out of? Was it comfortable? Did they have a specific place for the tassels to fall, or did that just happen naturally? Did it make you feel elegant and/or classy? Because I feel like if I was a woman that's how it would make me feel. Is it weird that I just said that?

I was given a (surprisingly) long back-story about the bonnet I was to wear before I was even allowed to see the stash of bonnets. And by stash, I mean the very carefully stored pristine Amish bonnets—each in their own special container (which may or may not have been temperature-controlled) so there is no chance of crushing these delicate, starched head coverings. The photographer for this shoot does lots and lots of Amish romance novel book covers and has been summoned for so many that he is a premier source of authentic bonnets and Amish plain clothes for Hollywood studios.

The week my shoot was scheduled he just received a bonnet back that he’d rented out to a movie set shooting a film in California. It was returned completely crushed, bent and not even in its original container. I think I saw a tear emerge when he showed it to me, but I can’t be sure. He was very distraught because authentic Amish bonnets are not easy to come by and they can be expensive. I actually never touched the bonnet that was pinned to my head. The photographer took it out of the container and the assistant pinned it to my hair.

I know it sounds like this photographer was on the verge of needing some serious group therapy about those bonnets but the truth is I respected his knowledge and care for this seemingly small yet hugely significant moniker of Amish faith communities. Somebody besides Amish women has to care about these things, and I’m glad he does.

Would you do another cover?

I would…and indeed I have! The next book cover I did was a connection Valerie [Valerie Weaver-Zercher; see below] had as she works for a Mennonite publishing house that was having a book cover shot in Minneapolis. This book, however, was of an Amish woman from the mid- to late 1800s. There was much discussion about the type of bonnet I would don, and we ended up taking several shots with lots of different props (a basket of dried meadow flowers, a falling apart Bible, a shawl wrapped in my arms) as well as two different head coverings. This time around it wasn’t as tense because it was a totally different creative company doing the shoot so there were no bonnets in special boxes (and the dress wasn’t Amish-made) but…it was still fun so for me it was perfect. That book should be coming out in 2015.

So as an actual Amish Romance cover model, what did you think of my column?

Honestly I thought it was bright and relatively spot-on, tongue-in-cheek though some parts were. Amish romance novels are hugely popular (hence your wall reference). I learned so much more about the phenom of the plain woman romance when I got to know Valerie Weaver-Zercher, author of The Thrill of the Chaste: The Allure of Amish Romance Novels and appreciated her Wall Street Journal article “Why Amish Romance Novels Are Hot,” where she describes what keeps those books flying off the shelf. The top three most popular authors have sold over 23 million of these books, combined.

And, you’ll be happy to know there is a series of Amish Vampire books—your quest is over, Jordan! Sleep well…or sleep worried, I guess, that those nice plain pious women are creatures of the night…will they pray for you or suck your blood?

Either way, I think I would probably try to interview them first. So what do you do when you're not modeling for romance covers? (aka 99.9999% of your life?) Where do you live? What's your day job like? Do you have a family or pets or people you talk to at Subway a lot?

When I’m not an unfamous model in the Twin Cities, I am an editor of the magazine Timbrel a publication from the organization for which I work, Mennonite Women USA. I also run a successful freelance commercial writing business, Tasty Text, and write blogs, website content, e-newsletters, white papers, brochure copy, Facebook posts, and really any number of text communication needing a serious virtual refreshment.

I live in Minneapolis in a 50s-style modern house in a neighborhood I call The United Nations because of the diversity of all the families living here. We’re just a few miles from hopping on the 60-some miles of bike trails in this urban wonderland and a new co-op is opening next spring three blocks from our house, so I’m twitterpated.

I have two humans (2 and 12), and I’m surprisingly thrilled with the ten-year space between their births (see Zombie question above for more insight) because I really get to know their sweet souls in a singular way, and I’m in love with them. Gloria is a classical guitarist and rock climber. She takes the city bus to 7th grade at her Montessori school in St. Paul so obviously she rules. Harold is this charming flaxen-haired boy with an affinity for memorization and airplanes. He has very good diction and careful enunciation, which thrills his Montessori guides and tickles us to no end. We attend Emmanuel Mennonite Church in Minneapolis where I lead singing in the worship band. (That’s right…a band. We’ve been known to rock...)

After running 7 marathons (including Boston!) I am on the prowl to find a sport that offers the same requirements for stamina and mental prowess that marathons demand. I’m open to suggestions in this realm. Other than being committed to the written word, my husband and I love making our own things (tables, toys) and watching good cinema. We super enjoy not being on Facebook and some shared hobbies are loving up our littles and going on bicycle adventures around the lakes. We would rather spend money on ridiculously good food and powerful experiences than material things any day. I eat heaps and heaps of peanut butter, and I’m a closet ballerina.

I noticed in some of your emails that you also write fiction. What kind of stuff do you write?

I used to say, “I’m writing a novel, therefore my house is immaculate,” but I’ve just completed my Novel Marathon Training, and my full manuscript is complete (huzzah!). So I’m shopping it to agents this fall. My novel takes place in Southern Turkey at the base of Mount Olympos in a remote fishing village. I was inspired when I visited Turkey and fell into a helpless love affair with the Mediterranean Sea and a sweet old couple who made my breakfast each morning when I was a guest at their home. I guess I didn’t want to leave, so my novel is the next best way for me stay without actually staying. The story is a tragedy and definitely a testament to love. It is injected with beautiful, aching, lovely and terrifying magical realism. I worry about my characters and love them desperately and am shocked by the horrible and wonderful things they do and thoughts they hide. I was just sharing with a friend that writing my novel, for me, is an opportunity to work out the conversations I know I’ll never have in real life.

My latest personal writing project is…wait for it…an Amish romance story. I know, I know. Truthfully I’d rather have my name on a cover than my mug, but what can I say?

Well, I can't say that I will read it, but I can say that I will go to Barnes and Noble and stare at the cover for a long time when it comes out.

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You can read more about Claire at her website, clairedeberg.com.

My newest McSweeney's column is now live, where I talk a little bit about one particular bookshelf at Barnes and Noble. Here's a little preview:

I think about this shelf a lot. Sometimes I just stand in the store and wonder who all of these women are. There must be some special contingent of them out there, some unique modeling subgroup that continually dons turn of the century clothing and stares wistfully off into the distance. I wish I could talk to one. I have so many questions.2 Surely there are not enough of these books made for the models to earn a living off of them. So what else do they do, when they are between covers? Do they also sell lace gloves, or let their hair down occasionally for a Land’s End catalog? Do they have an ongoing, bitter rivalry with the milk-skinned, red-lipped army of brunettes that leer out of the vampire romance novels two shelves over? Do the two groups have crazy brawls at modeling conventions, Anchorman-style, aiming only at legs and torsos to avoid damaging each other’s faces? Or are they, perhaps, actually the same group of women, just done up in different colors?

Read the rest at McSweeney's Internet Tendency.

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If you're still waiting for the sequel to The Towers, don't worry. I'm diligently working on it in between baseball games.

As some of you know, I write an occasional column for McSweeney's Internet Tendency, "Speaking for all Christians Exactly Like Me." The column came about as a result of McSweeney's annual contest, which awards ten or so people with an opportunity to write for the site for a year. Today, I'm continuing an ongoing series of interviews with the other nine winners (or as many of them as I can track down and get to return my emails).

Today’s guest is Wendy C. Ortiz, author of the McSweeney's column "On the Trail of Mary Jane." You'll probably figure this out on your own, but my questions and responses are in italics.

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JJ: I guess I'll start with a couple of political questions, given the topic of your column. What do you think of the current drug policy in the US?

WO: I vacillate between decriminalization of many (not all) drugs and just a simple change in approach by which people are treated justly and fairly for crimes involving drugs. I'm certain that I don't agree with standard drug policy as is.

JJ: What drugs would you want to keep criminalized? As a resident of the Midwest, the strongest argument for me against decriminalization of hard drugs is meth. It seems to be about the fastest way to ruin your life. Though this is coming from someone who has never consumed anything stronger than a Trappist ale.

WO: Have you read Methland? What an incredible book. Yes, meth is harsh. Heroin is harsh. I have a hard time imagining decriminalizing these two. And then there are the legal drugs that have a hold on so many people: prescription drugs, for example. I have lots of ambivalences here.

JJ: I have not read it, though it looks pretty good. And that hits more at the heart of where I'm going with this. Meth doesn't just ruin people's lives, it ruins whole towns, whole counties. How do you think medical marijuana dispensaries affect the communities they are in?

WO: It remains to be seen. From my own journeys into the nine dispensaries and one prescribing doctor, and taking a cursory look at the surrounding neighborhoods, these businesses don't appear to negatively affect the communities they're in, and yet it would take a lot more research to learn if this is true. I can only speak from what I see, and at face value, I don't see outright harm. What I'd love to do is look at this more deeply, with the help of existing data about the neighborhoods and in conversations with residents. That, however, is another different and larger project.

JJ: So who do you think of as your audience?

WO: As much as I'd like to say I don't think of my audience, I do. It depends on the venue, though. The audience I imagine for my memoir coming out this summer (aside from GENERAL and WIDE, hopefully) are young women like myself, who were once 14, 15, 16 years old, trying to navigate potentially dangerous situations.

The audience I think of for my McSweeney's column is composed of people who have not stepped foot inside a medical marijuana dispensary but have a curiosity about them, what goes on inside them.

The audience of my second book coming out later this year might be poets, artists and others who've lived on their own and struggled with trying to make money and do their art for the first time in an earnest way. My perfect reader is one who is open, with a strong sense of curiosity.

JJ: So I'm curious about that first sentence. Why would you like to say that you don't think about your audience? Do you find it restrictive in some way? Mostly I ask because I've always viewed my writing primarily as communication, rather than, say, expression or even art, broadly conceived. I usually find that I can't even start writing until I have an audience in mind, even if it is only a single person that I know. And by "person that I know," I mean "person I am married to."

WO: It seems freeing to write with no thought of audience, but I do write with an audience in mind, whether it's me (past or current versions of self), one other writer (usually someone I admire or have a connection with), or a readership of an established literary journal.

JJ: Why do you write? And how'd you get started writing?

WO: There have been times when I have found myself without enough time, space or energy to write and during those times I have felt a malaise which, at its worst, had me feeling nearly suicidal (luckily I can say the last time I felt this way was many years ago). I would joke and say it made me homicidal but what I really meant was, I don't know if I want to live if I can't write.

I started writing for a general audience when I created my first zine in second grade. My mother photocopied it at work for me, and I tried to sell it for 25 cents to my classmates.

JJ: That's a pretty stiff price for second grade. What did you write about in it?

WO: I don't remember. But I do remember the cover being a hand-drawn picture of the interior of a box of chocolates.

JJ: When you're not working on your column, what do you do?

WO: I'm a registered marriage and family therapist intern, which means I provide psychotherapy to clients in a private practice setting under the supervision of licensed therapist. I set fees at the local nonprofit counseling center where I received much of my training. These jobs take up about ten to twelve hours of my work week. I'm also what is known as a "stay at home mother" though I'd hardly say I "stay at home." I go to parks, museums, and other places my three-year-old loves. I write, occasionally teach creative writing to undergrads, and run the Rhapsodomancy reading series.

JJ: Do you like teaching the creative writing classes? I find a lot of the people I know who do that sort of thing are rather ambivalent about their jobs.

WO: I am totally, utterly ambivalent. Yep. I love teaching, I have been told directly and in student evaluations that I'm a great teacher, but the amount of energy and work that goes into it is not compensated fairly or well, I find.

JJ: What's the last book you read that you loved, and why did you love it?

WO: I can't just include one book, so let me list a little. The last three books I read and loved: Meatheart by Melissa Broder; The TV Sutras by Dodie Bellamy; and Ditch Water by Joseph Delgado. The first and the last mentioned are poetry. I'm doing a spree of Melissa Broder books right now. I will read anything Dodie Bellamy puts out because she is amazing, and I'm hooked on the tweets of poet Joseph Delgado, so a book of his poetry was like eating a meal after many many delicious appetizers.

JJ: I read Bellamy's The Letters of Mina Harker a couple years ago. It was one of those books where I felt like I was missing half of what was going on, but it was weirdly fascinating anyway. The cover still freaks out my wife.

So last question, that I like to ask everyone. Let's say that somebody you loved was going to enter the McSweeney's column contest next year. What advice would you give them?

WO: First, I'd assume they're familiar with McSweeney's. Then I would ask them, what would you want to write even if it wouldn't appear in McSweeney's? What kind of ongoing writing project would interest you enough that you'd want to write it monthly for a year and not know if anyone would pick it up?

JJ: Bingo. That's exactly the way that I approached it when I decided to enter. I thought about my own site, and the sort of thing that I thought was missing. Really, I used the process of entering the contest as a way of developing a repeatable concept that I wished I could read.

WO: Right? And have you suddenly come up with more ideas for columns? I have at least a couple, after this experience.

JJ: Good. We'll have something to look forward to then.

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Wendy's new book Excavation: A Memoir is now availabe.