MMQ Acquires An Avalanche of Awards!

OKAY, THIS IS SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION.  But anyone who has worked for years to get where you are will understand just how thrilling it is to get SOMEWHERE and have people sit up and take notice!  Hooray!  I’m not crazy! (And yes, there were days that label seemed rather fitting.)  Hooray!  Team MMQ is a winner! Kudos to artist and cover illustrator, David Condry, who has become my friend and fellow partner in humor.  And kudos to graphic designer Nathan Fisher who laid out MMQ so creatively and then went on to design this website, my FB page, and my business cards. Team MMQ — we done good.  🙂 MARY MARY QUITE: On Raising Children (and other mind-altering substances) is gaining recognition!  To date, here is the proof — Winner – First Place, 2015 Beverly Hills Book Award for Humor Winner – First Place, 2015 International Book Awards for Humor Winner  – Silver Medal in Humor – Reader’s Favorite Awards Winner  – Illustration Award for Non-Fiction – Reader’s Favorite Awards Winner  – Bronze Medal in Humor – 2015 eLit Book Awards Finalist – 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for Parenting/Family Finalist – 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Award for Best Overall
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Starkers — and Unashamed

IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, summer means “fun in the sun!” In the sprinklers, at the pool, or on the beach, that’s where I spent my summers – from age two, to twenty-two. Sunscreen was for sissies. Us cool kids infused baby oil with iodine, rubbed it on our skin, then fried our hides in the sun like pork rinds. I distinctly remember the pleasure of undergoing a “good burn,” then admiring my healthy glow in the mirror afterwards, feeling the heat radiate out from my skin, and through my clothes. (Yep, ignorance is bliss.) My first boyfriend taught me to body surf. My second boyfriend taught me to board surf. He had a car, so my summer with him was all about the beach. Ten hours a day, six days a week, for twelve weeks solid. That totaled 864 hours of direct sunlight in three months. (Give or take an hour.) By the end of August, I no longer looked Caucasian. I looked African American. My skin was the consistency of aging leather, my hair was dry as dust, and my eyes had faded from bright blue to a dull gray. (Did I mention, we didn’t wear sunglasses in those days,
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On the Precipice, Between Anonymity and Fame

FROM WHERE I STAND, it’s a good time to breathe a sigh of relief, sit down, and swallow some humble pie. Because MARY MARY QUITE just won its first book award – The Beverly Hills International Book Award for Humor – and I’m having the strangest reaction. I am humbled. I prayed MMQ would win first place, and it did. Why did I want first place? Because I know oh-too-well how disappointing it is to be the finalist, but not the winner. Yep – been there, done that on other writing projects. And guess what? I can feel that finalist’s pain, the one who came in second today. Oh yes, I can. It’s like standing two feet away from the altar and seeing your childhood friend say awesome things to the man she will live with for the rest of her life, while you look on and feel pangs of longing and emptiness inside. Will anyone ever claim me as his bride? Is there a wedding day in my future? It’s those unspoken questions that live behind that veil of happiness you genuinely feel for your friend, on her glorious day. The bridesmaid syndrome. Close, but no cigar. And close only counts in horseshoes. So. . . do I know how to win? I’m not sure that I
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It Happens Every Friday

I BET IT HAPPENS EVERY FRIDAY in New York City, Chicago, Tokyo, London, Shanghai, Cairo, and all other major metropolitan areas around the world, just as it does every Friday in my home town of Los Angeles. As a matter of fact, I’d stake my pension on it. (Hey, I knew that pension would be good for something!) In L.A., we call it “The Friday Get-Away.” Translated, that means, “It’s rush hour all day, and nine out of ten drivers are homicidal maniacs – bent on seeing how many people they can mow down on their way out of town.” And for some cockeyed reason, most Angelinos think that somehow we will be exempt from the Get-Away insanity, if we leave home before noon. Wrong! In fact, the Get-Away starts at oh-dark-thirty, in the wee hours of the day on Friday morning, because that’s when the criminally insane are at their best (or worse, depending upon your point of view). They’ve been up all night packing their SUVs, and have already downed two buckets of espresso, four Red Bulls, and two quarts of road rage before they careen out of their driveways pre-dawn, while half of the city still sleeps. It’s the other
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What We Think vs. What We Say

IN SOME CIRCLES, that person would be called hypocritical or two-faced, and yes – even disingenuous. (Hey, look that one up in your Funk and Wagnall’s!) Think about it. How can a person say one thing aloud, while silently thinking its polar opposite? Well, first I’d say that it’s a pretty talented person who can do two things simultaneously, without getting confused. So my first impulse is to congratulate a duplicitous thinker-speaker, especially considering how closely our brains and our mouths are connected. Think it/say it – that’s the modus operandi for most folks. So I call it a fine art and one to be admired – the art of thinking one thing, but saying something completely different. And I must admit, I’m kinda patting myself on the back, here. (Good job, Mary!) For I’ve been a lifelong devotee of double speak. Let me illustrate. You stagger out of the grocery store, clutching four bags loaded down with food. You look both ways, then step into the white grid that’s painted on the asphalt in front of you, and wham! A gray Toyota van speeds right past you, inches from your body, then careens left and races down a row
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