Viola Shipman takes us over the rainbow...plus a book giveaway

We're pleased to bring back our first Go-to-Gay, Wade Rouse, to celebrate the publication of his latest novel, The Hope Chest, written under the pen name Viola Shipman as a tribute to his grandmother, whose heirlooms inspired him to write it, along with his debut novel, The Charm Bracelet. Today, he's taking us back in time to the musicals his grandmothers loved. Thanks to St. Martin's Press, we have TWO copies of The Hope Chest to give away!


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Synopsis:
The discovery of one woman’s heirloom hope chest unveils precious memories and helps three people who have each lost a part of themselves find joy once again.

Ever since she was diagnosed with ALS, fiercely independent Mattie doesn’t feel like herself. She can’t navigate her beloved home, she can’t go for a boat ride, and she can barely even feed herself. Her devoted husband, Don, doesn’t want to imagine life without his wife of nearly fifty years, but Mattie isn’t likely to make it past their anniversary.

But when Rose, Mattie’s new caretaker, and her young daughter, Jeri, enter the couple’s life, happiness and the possibility for new memories return. Together they form a family, and Mattie is finally able to pass on her memories from the hope chest she received from her mother.

With each item―including a favorite doll, family dishes, an embroidered apron, and an antique Christmas ornament―the hope chest connects Mattie, Don and Rose to each other and helps them find hope again in the face of overwhelming life challenges.

A beautiful story about the unconditional love and support of family, The Hope Chest by Viola Shipman will remind you that hope can be found where and when you least expect it.


“Hope Sounds Like Judy Garland”

The first musical I remember watching as a child with my grandmothers was The Wizard of Oz. It didn’t turn out so well. The flying monkeys scared me so badly that I covered my eyes, screamed and finally went running out of the TV room to bury my head under the covers in my bedroom.
That didn’t deter my grandmothers from making me watch movies with music (Fantasia went much more smoothly) or further indoctrinating me to Judy Garland.

The next Judy musical I watched – snuggled between them, eating candy straight out of my basket – was Easter Parade.

This time, I didn’t cover my eyes, scream or run out of the room. I sat up a little straighter and smiled. When Judy and Fred Astaire sang “A Couple of Swells,” I remember getting up and taking a seat right in front of the TV, mesmerized, watching them dance in a fantasy world as make-believe characters.

Next came Meet Me in St. Louis, which, ironically, was the big city I dreamed of living in as an Ozarks child (my grandfathers and father LOVED the St. Louis Cardinals and listened to every game on the radio). This one hooked me even more with its songs and its beauty, and I eventually would live in St. Louis partially because of the spell this movie cast on me.

That started a tradition: Whenever a movie musical was on, my grandmothers would call me, and we’d plan a night together, just the three of us, and our imaginations.

We watched more than Judy, of course – Oklahoma, Auntie Mame, The Sound of Music – but Judy’s musicals remained our favorites. Whenever one of her movies was shown on TV, or featured at the local, old-time theatre, we would watch or go, the three of us.

I asked my grandmas once why they loved musicals so much. My Grandma Shipman took my hand in hers and said, “They’re like living a dream. The actors sing everything we think in our heads and feel in our hearts but that we are never able to demonstrate in real life.”

“And why do you love Judy Garland so much?”
“If hope had a voice, it would be Judy’s,” she said.

I use her quote in my new novel, The Hope Chest. In fact, one of the chapters in the book centers around an old Judy Garland ticket stub that is found in the long-forgotten hope chest of the main character, Mattie, a woman in the final stages of ALS. Mattie grew up loving Judy Garland (and living in St. Louis), and she passes along her love for the star and of movie musicals to her caregiver, Rose, and Rose’s young daughter, Jeri (who is named after my own mother).

Watching musicals with my grandmas still fills me with great warmth and memories, but, more importantly, that experience changed me greatly. It caused me not only to see the world differently but also challenged how I wanted to be a part of it. As a result, I took music lessons. I played trombone. I sang. I acted in plays and musicals. I read books. And, of course, I began to write.
Like my debut novel, The Charm Bracelet, The Hope Chest is inspired not only by my grandmas’ heirlooms but also by their lives, lessons and love. It was their belief in me and sacrifices for our family that changed the course of our lives and allowed me to be who I am today. Viola Shipman – the pen name I use for my fiction – is my maternal grandmother’s name, and I chose it to pay tribute to my grandmothers as well as all of our elders, whose voices, stories and sacrifices are too often overlooked today.

I still curl up on the couch and watch musicals, old and new, and I continue to feel the presence and impact of my grandmothers when I do. I recently saw a new movie musical, LaLa Land, and I thought of my grandmas much of the time, thinking of how much they’d love the movie. Near the end, when Emma Stone’s character – who is about to give up her dream of being an actress – sings a number entitled "Audition (The Fools Who Dream)," I began to weep openly. So loudly, in fact, that many turned around to see if I were OK.

I had been where Emma Stone’s character had been many times in my career, on the verge of quitting, of thinking that my dreams of being a writer were simply pipe dreams. But something deep inside me always urged me on, sang to me, like my grandmas did when we watched musicals together.

It was fierce determination and a bit of madness, of course, but most of all it was hope. Hope that I could make the world feel, think, see just a little bit differently from my words.

In the end, hope sang to me, so loudly it won out.

And it sounded just like Judy Garland’s voice.


How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here. 

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Giveaway ends March 26th at midnight EST.

Go-to-Gay: Child of Hope...plus a book giveaway

Introduction by Melissa Amster

As I was reading Wade's post for this month, I was reminded of when my mother-in-law and I went to Rosh Hashanah services together. She wore a charm bracelet that was passed along to her from her mother, and she told me how she would play with the charms during services when she was a kid and how she wore it now in case my kids wanted to play with the charms. They definitely kept my daughter entertained when she wanted to sit with us during the holiday services. It's amazing to think about how jewelry and stories get passed down through generations and I don't expect to see any dry eyes after you read about Wade's memories. His debut novel, The Charm Bracelet (written as Viola Shipman) published yesterday. (Check out a review here.) Thanks to St. Martin's Press, we have TWO copies to share with some lucky US readers!

The Seasons of Our Lives

As I grow older, the seasons come faster and seem shorter, and yet I find them laced with even more beauty and resonance.

Summer, of course, is still filled with childlike wonder, days at the beach, reading on the screen porch while the Cardinals game plays in the background, picking blueberries, eating triple scoop ice cream cones and watching fireflies illuminate the warm night.

Fall brings a return to routine along with crisp days, crockpot meals, football and sugar maples blanketed with leaves of crimson, yellow and orange.

Winter is a time of hibernation and snow, which comes early in Michigan – snowmen and snow angels and cross-country skiing – and Christmas is tinged with love and sadness now that both of my parents are gone.

But spring has always held a certain wonder for me, a time of rebirth. I love to wander through our woods and admire the daffodils that grow wildly and blanket the hillsides in gold, the Crayon tulips that pop up around trees and the inspiration of Easter, both spiritually and commercially (who still doesn't love Easter baskets, chocolate, dying eggs and Peeps?!?).

I was born March 30th, and my birthday has often fallen around or on Easter. My mother always called me her "child of hope," and she planted dogwoods – pink and white – in our childhood yard to represent me and my brother, who died when he was 17. I drove past our home last year while visiting my father, and those trees are intertwined now, pink and white hugging one another forever.

I used to call my mother on my birthday, before she could wake, much like Billy Crystal's mother did in the movie City Slickers.

"Happy Birthday," I would say to her.
"You're not well," she would joke. "I was going to call you … when it was light out."
"It's really your birthday," I would say. "I was just along for the ride."
"My child of hope," she would whisper, her voice suddenly emotional.
On my birthday, she would often send me daffodils and tulips – "for your writing desk," she would state on her card – as well as gifts to "inspire your muse."

It seems only appropriate that my latest book – and debut novel, The Charm Bracelet – would also be born in the spring (March 22 is its launch date) and be inspired by her. In fact, The Charm Bracelet is inspired by mother and grandmothers – their charm bracelets and lessons – as well as the "seasons" of our lives. It is also a tribute to my grandmothers: I chose the pen name Viola Shipman, my maternal grandmother's name, to honor all the women who inspired this book as well as me to become a writer.

With my maternal grandmother

I always say that the jangling of my grandmothers' charm bracelets was the background music to my childhood, and the charms are the narrative structure and hook of this book. Each charm in the book – like in my grandmothers' lives – held a story, a key that unlocked a secret part of them, and that while the charms were simple, their symbolism was grand: The dragonfly charm was to a life filled with good fortune; the puzzle piece was to a life filled with friends who complete you; the loon charm for a love that always called you home; the mustard seed charm to a life filled with faith.

My roots are present in this novel, which is about how the charms on a grandmother's bracelet reconnect her to her daughter and granddaughter and reminds them (before she falls further into dementia) -- and all of us -- of what's most important in this too-busy world: Family, faith, friends, fun, love and a passion for what you do.

The book, naturally, is also tied to the seasons, and how the memories of each resonates more deeply within us as we grow older, and the seasons come faster and seem shorter.

I consider this book to be a child of hope as well, and I know my mom and grandmothers would be proud. I can picture us all swinging on a glider on a warm summer day drinking iced tea and reading this book aloud to one another.

I couldn't be prouder of this book – and this new season of my life as a novelist – and truly hope you're charmed by The Charm Bracelet.

How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here.

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US only. Giveaway ends March 29th at midnight EST.

VIOLA SHIPMAN is a pen name for Wade Rouse, a popular, award-winning memoirist. Rouse chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman, to honor the woman whose charm bracelet and family stories inspired him to write his debut novel, which is a tribute to all of our elders. Rouse lives in Michigan and writes for People and Coastal Living, among other places, and is a contributor to All Things Considered. To date, The Charm Bracelet has been translated into nine languages and is an April Indie Next Pick by the nation's independent booksellers. He is at work on his second “heirloom novel,” which will be published in 2017 from St. Martin's Press. For more, please visit www.violashipman.com

Go-To-Gay: Gotta have a theme!

Introduction by Gary Edwards

I kinda live my life around themes, whether it is when I decorate a room or have a party. I think themes set a mood, make a memory and just all around make life way more fun. If I am attending a party I always ask, “What is the theme?” I always want to know so I can wear the right outfit. From nautical to a Vegas game night, I am there!

That’s why when Wade and I started doing book tours I always like to dress or have a theme to embrace his most recent memoir. Sure, some folks may say it is immature or tacky. I say it’s all about fun.  Trust me, if the event is black tie I can class it up with the rest of them. But, meanwhile most things aren’t, so why not add a sparkle and some fun?

Following is an excerpt from Wade’s memoir, It’s All Relative, about me and themes. Yes, on that book tour I decorated everything holiday and then decided to wear a hula outfit! So always remember to make life a party and set the mood!

Blue Christmas

by Wade Rouse

            If Martha Stewart were to have a full-body electrolysis, Adam's apple shaving and, well, basically just go whole hog and become a man, she would be my partner, Gary.

            Gary is home.

            He is coasters, and table runners, and twig lamps.

            His right scent, right season.

            He is place settings, and teacups, and dish towels that cost forty dollars apiece but can never be used.

            And Gary is holiday.

            He is bedecked Fraser firs and red-twig dogwood centerpieces, he is mistletoe and twinkle lights. He has the perfect recipe for a Thanksgiving sweet-potato casserole or a Father's Day breakfast-sausage bake.

            In his wallet.

            In his previous life, Gary was responsible for bedecking the city of St. Louis in all its holiday splendor. He was Simon Doonan for an entire town, now just a window. He raised forty-foot firs and trimmed them in more shiny shimmer than Liberace's panties. He hung forests of poinsettias from the ceilings of malls, making holiday shoppers both spend more and believe they had just witnessed the arrival of baby Jesus. He would've flocked the Gateway Arch if he couldn't gotten approval from the airport.

            And when Gary was finished with the city, he focused on our home, decorating it like the White House and then tossing a holiday party.

            Every year around Halloween, Gary began thinking seriously about the theme for our holiday bash. I could tell because his face would always grow serious and tight, like Martha's does when she ties a duck with rosemary-infused twine or is firing a kiln to make her own dishes.

            All of our parties, no matter how intimate, had themes, like "Winter Wonderland," or "Gingerbread Castle." We had never been Velveeta-on-Ritz-type hosts, even for unannounced drop-bys. We held a Frost & Berries holiday party, meaning everything – food, décor, the table, drinks – had to be frosty and berrylicious. We served frosty cranberry punch out of a frosty antique cut-glass bowl. We had tuxedoed waiters with frosty hair. We transformed pine roping into an old-fashioned garland by stringing it with popcorn, cranberries, and twinkling frosted lights. But the piece de resistance was a flocked, berry-bedecked Christmas tree that Gary hung upside down over the dining room table a la The Poseidon Adventure.

People actually gasped.

Even our Super Bowl parties had themes, much to the chagrin of my old fraternity brothers. "What does 'Cheer Squad 2010' have to do with the big game?" they would ask. But it gave Gary endless opportunities to decorate our mantel and big-screen with pom-poms, serve popcorn out of megaphones, and choreograph his own halftime show.

One evening just before Halloween, as I watched Gary line our porch with pumpkin lights and scatter our yard with hay like we lived on a farm and needed to feed our horses, his face grew serious and tight, and he looked up in the witch's hat he was wearing and said, "I've got it! Let's go simple. Let's go retro. Let's do a Blue Christmas, just like Elvira!"

"Elvis," I said to him. "You're mixing your holiday metaphors."

"Our theme is simplicity. Simple, simple, nostalgically retro simple."

Simple to you is like casual Friday to Karl Lagerfeld, I said to myself.

"What? Did you say something?" he asked, before yelling "BOO!" so loudly at a neighbor that I could swear she started to reach in her purse for pepper spray.

            Having a simple dinner party to Gary meant loads of cash and lots of time. It meant filling McCoy pottery with cranberries, and vases with lake stones and floating votives. Simple meant creating a canopy of pine boughs and bittersweet over the dining room table.

            Just something simple meant spending four hundred dollars on new place settings and stemware because the dishes we had "weren't simple enough."

            And as simple luck would have it, we, of course, didn't have anything amongst our forty red-and-green holiday storage containers that was "blue" enough for our Blue Christmas.

            "I want ice blue, frost blue," Gary told me in Target. "I want everything to look dipped in ice, like a winter sky at night."

            I had no idea what he was saying but quickly got the point – five hundred dollars later.

  "I desperately need some ice-blue tapered candles," Gary then said.

            And I desperately needed something, too, I thought: I desperately needed a turkey baster inserted into my eyeball to dwarf the pain I was experiencing.

            Another three hundred dollars later – after buying candles and faux ice blocks and icy blue penguins and ornaments we wouldn't even use – I cracked standing in Michael's while looking at luminaries.

            "How can a quarter ounce of paper," I asked, my voice rising with each syllable, "cost four dollars?"

            "Well, each luminary has this adorable cutout of a northern star …" Gary began.

            "That's a rhetorical question!" I yelled.

            "What's wrong?" Gary asked. "Don't you want to throw a great holiday party?"

            I did. But I also wanted to retire before I was 112. I didn't want to deplete our IRA, and we hadn't even hired the caterer or bartenders yet.

            And, to be completely honest, I always felt a bit worthless when it came to tossing our holiday parties. Gary was gifted. He knew how to entertain. 

The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s  Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and  People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.

Gary Edwards is the marketing and events manager for bestselling author Wade Rouse. Edwards arranges Rouse’s tour schedule, speaking engagements as well as coordinates and facilitates his writing workshops and retreats.  Additionally, Edwards has helped market and promote all five of Rouse’s books. Edwards also has a background in hospitality, and sales as well as design.   With his vast professional background and a love to listen and help friends he is a perfect storm of love and nurture. Edwards is Martha Stewart meets Dear Abby with a dash of Mrs. Doubtfire.  For more, please friend him on Facebook and Twitter.

Go-to-Gay: With a Blink and a Smile

Introduction by Melissa Amster

My grandmother and I used to read V.C. Andrews novels together. (Well, not out loud to each other but I got her all into them.) My mother can read a book a day and she and I are always sharing books with each other. My sons stay up in bed reading and get all excited to go to the library. (I hope my daughter shares this enthusiasm when she's able to read. She does like books though.) I can only imagine my future grandchildren will share this love for books and will pass it along to future generations. While I'm ready for my daughter to grow up so I can share Amelia Bedelia, Ramona Quimby, The Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley High, etc. with her, I also don't want it to go too fast. 

Our Go-to-Gay, Wade Rouse, talks about how life moves so fast and  we just have to cherish the memories. It makes me think of the song "Don't Blink" by Kenny Chesney (I dare you to watch the video without crying). Enjoy!


A Blink of An Eye

My husband, Gary, wants to live to be 114. That's the age, for some reason, that he has chosen and is working hard to reach.

"I want to live well past 100," Gary always says, very seriously. "I want to be a centaurian."
"So you want to be live until you become half-man, half-horse?" I ask.
"What?"
"It's centenarian. Not centaurian."
"Whatever."

I admire his tenacity and his joy for life. I love his spirit. Gary wants to leave his mark on this world. He lives. Fully, freely, fearlessly every single day. It is an admirable thing to witness. It is a gift to be around.
I turn the big 5-0 the end of March, and – of course – it's a birthday filled with celebration and reflection, nostalgia and excitement for what lies ahead. It's also made me juxtapose the way I view aging versus the way Gary does.

I am in the midst of writing a memoir about turning "middle age" (which, I joke, isn't really middle age unless the average life expectancy has suddenly been pushed back to 100). It is a funny book (I hope) but one that is also filled with sentimentality, introspection, ferocity and fabulousness.

The memoir – tentatively titled The Picture of Dorian Gay: Essays on Aging (un)Gracefully in A Youth-Obsessed Culture – is mostly about how all of us got here – right here, no matter our age: With great failures and successes, copious amounts of love and forgiveness, too much anger and fear, and with the help of family, friends and faith. In the end, it's a book that celebrates our strengths and fragilities while acknowledging that life is really a blink of an eye and that we all best enjoy this short ride and leave our mark on this world.

At 50, I blink and can remember my grandmother reading the Bible to me at our log cabin. I blink and can see my mother holding my hand on the first day of school. I blink and can remember my father cutting down a Christmas tree in our woods. I blink and can remember my fraternity days, graduate school, my first job, meeting Gary nearly two decades ago. I blink and can remember burying my brother, my aunt, my grandparents, my mother.

I blink and can see myself at 100.

But those tiny blinks create an exquisite Viewfinder on my life and all our lives. Each blink – like each tiny step – moves us forward in some way from our past.

My grandmothers and mother always urged me to write. I never dreamed I would be a writer. But, in a blink of an eye, I have become one.

I recently completed my first novel, which sold to St. Martin's and will publish in hardcover in 2016. I'm sorry that I can't say too much more at this point, save for the fact that it took a lot of blinks to finish it. And, in looking back on my life, I was able to write a book that honors my grandmothers and our elders, while celebrating the exquisite journeys we all take to get right here, to this very point today.

The overriding messages of both books? Get out there and celebrate, have fun, love big, make your mark. Otherwise, you will blink, and it'll all be over.

So, here's to 50! And, as Gary would add, 50 more!

The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s  Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.

Go-To-Gays: Refresh, Recharge, Refocus

Introduction by Tracey Meyers

Recently, my vacuum broke. My very expensive, yet super powerful Dyson pet vacuum that makes living with my cat, Elsie, a cleaner experience. There used to be a time when I wouldn't spend more than $75 on a vacuum because I didn't feel it made a difference. However, over time I've come to realize there are some products I'm willing to invest more money into because I know I'm getting something of quality and they become some of my favorite things.

Today we have a special treat for y'all! To start off 2015 in style, we have both of Chick Lit Central's Go-To-Gays, Wade Rouse and Gary Edwards, here to share with everyone some of their favorite things.



Our Favorite Things

Every New Year brings a fresh start: A time to reflect, put bad habits behind us and focus on our goals for 2015. It is also a time when we all want to refresh, recharge and refocus on taking care of ourselves.

In keeping with this "re" theme, Gary and I wanted to share a few of our "really" favorite things regarding health and beauty. May this year bring all of our readers health, happiness and success.

Bath soap:
Wade: Ivory & St Ives apricot scrub (Ivory is my simple go-to. Combined with St. Ives – and ice-cold water – my skin stays clean, tight and never breaks out.)
Gary: All and any great smelling organic soaps! I vow to never use gross soap. It is one time in the day I want to feel pampered.

Face cleanser:
Wade: Cetaphil (I have oilier skin, and I used this – again with ice cold water – as a break between Ivory and St. Ive's. The simpler the better, I think, for healthy skin … combined with drinking lots of water and a healthy diet!)
Gary: Cetaphil (normal to dry) or Burt's Bees Soap Bark & Chamomile Cleansing Cream.

Hair:
Wade: Paul Mitchell Lavender Mint Shampoo & Conditioner (love … and smells like heaven!)
Gary: Nioxin 2 (for thinning hair) Shampoo & Conditioner. Fighting my Grandpa’s hair line as long as I can!





Body moisturizers:
Wade: St. Ives Skin Renewing Collagen Elastin Body Lotion (I will take collagen and elastin anywhere I can get it, now that I'm closing in on 50!)
Gary: Now Pure Almond Oil or Coconut Oil, your skin is the largest organ, take care of it!

Face moisturizers:
Wade: Cetaphil moisturizer, Roc Eye Cream
Gary: Cetphil moisturizer, Pure almond oil. At night I use Obagi Medical Tretinoin cream 0.1% prescribed by my dermatologist. After having skin cancer I take my skin very serious

Lips:
Wade: Vaseline at bedtime. Day I pick one of the following favorites: Burt Bee’s Radiance Lip Shimmer & keekipureandsimple rootbeer float & orange creamsicle (I could never go on Survivor, because I am obsessed with soft, supple, shiny lips!)
Gary: Eos Lip Sphere(sweet mint) at bedtime. Day I love keekipureandsimple minty vanilla cooler

Hair Products:
Wade: Neuma Style Texturizer & Garnier Sleek Shine anti-humidity hairspray (the best styling gel I've ever used … good hold without looking wet, and made from all natural products)
Gary: Neuma Style Texturizer & Redken Powder grip #03(helps add fullness and lift at the root)

Feet: While I am not a foot person I do take care of my own!
Wade: Burt's Bees Coconut Foot cream & Lemon cuticle softener
Gary: Burt's Bees Coconut Foot cream & Lemon cuticle softener, Also every few days a treat of Now pure peppermint oil.

Hands:
Wade: Our friend Amanda’s Goat Milk Balm, Burt Bee’s Lemon cuticle softener. (This baaa-aaa-lm is the best, especially in the winter!)
Gary: As a gardener my hands are often neglected. When I remember I use the Mary Kay Satin Hands mask and lotion along with Burt Bee’s Lemon cuticle softener

Deodorant:
Wade & Gary: Every Man Jack (Citrus) Aluminum free, Cruelty free & naturally derived.

Cologne:
Wade: D&G “original”, Burberry “Britt” (one "heartier" scent for winter, one "fresher, lighter" scent for summer)
Gary: Old school Fahrenheit. Both Wade and all of my gal pals love this scent on me! It is my stand by!

Sunscreen:
Wade: Keeki Pure and Simple Natural Sunscreen 15,30 & 45 (fab! And ALL natural!)
Gary: Keeki Pure and Simple Natural Sunscreen 15,30 & 45
If I am outside I have it on! It is the best all natural sunscreen ever!

As usually we are always looking for the next best thing! What are some of your favorite health & beauty products and secrets? As Gary and I approach 50 we need all the help we can get!

The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s  Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.

Gary Edwards is the marketing and events manager for bestselling author Wade Rouse. Edwards arranges Rouse’s tour schedule, speaking engagements as well as coordinates and facilitates his writing workshops and retreats.  Additionally, Edwards has helped market and promote all five of Rouse’s books. Edwards also has a background in hospitality, and sales as well as design.   With his vast professional background and a love to listen and help friends he is a perfect storm of love and nurture. Edwards is Martha Stewart meets Dear Abby with a dash of Mrs. Doubtfire.  For more, please friend him on Facebook and Twitter.

Go-To-Gay: Star Power

Introduction by Tracey Meyers

The first time I ever saw someone famous was during spring break 1997.  I was in London at Piccadilly Circus.  As we made our way to the tube we came upon large crowds gathering what we would learn was a premier of the remastered Star Wars films.  That night I saw one of the guitarist from ZZ Top (a popular band from the 80s).

During the Jewish High Holidays, I realized that some high-profile individuals attend the same congregation as I do.  When I was discussing this with some friends later on, one of them said, "Do you think when they are in services they think 'Gee, I'm so glad I don't have to be a well-known person right now?'"

Well, today our Go-To-Gay (and pop culture king), Wade Rouse, ponders this concept as well, as Chick Lit Central focuses on celebrities this month.

"Star Power"

I have long been obsessed with celebrity culture.

Enter me in nearly any trivia contest, and I will either stun or horrify you with my celebrity knowledge (sports, too, but not geography … never geography).

This is partly due, I believe, to the time in which I grew up. My mother adored Elizabeth Taylor, my grandfather revered John Wayne, my aunt loved Elvis. But celebrities – in life and in our reverential tones toward them – seemed untouchable, like my great-grandmother's china my mom kept out of reach on the top shelf in our dining room cabinet.

But things changed, quickly. Celebrity life morphed, seemingly overnight, from "American Bandstand" to MTV, from "Battle of the Network Stars" to "Entertainment Tonight."

Suddenly, stars became a human, daily visitor into our homes.

In college, when sports was not blaring from one of the many TVs in our fraternity house, MTV ruled.

I watched Wham! and danced to David Bowie. I felt as if I single-handedly helped propel Madonna to stardom.

Most of us woke in the middle of the night to watch Princess Diana marry.

We swooned over Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and then wanted her to be truly happy in real life, too.

The power of new media and technology made us feel like friends. It was a brilliant (and lucrative) delusion.

It is just that, I believe, which is the enduring power of my and our nation's celebrity obsession: We have felt like we know them, and, thus, desperately want stars' dreams to come true, because – in a way – ours do, too.

Much of my writing is filled with pop cultural and celebrity references. My former longtime Random House editor once joked that a single one of my humorous memoirs had more celebrity references than all of the books she edited combined (although, it must be stated, Deepak Chopra didn't use a lot of them). Indeed, when I would receive copy-edited pages, the list could easily exceed three single-spaced pages of names and products, from Jack Palance, Pop-Tarts and Pitt to Mindy Cohn and Suzanne Somers.

In addition to writing books, I now write for PEOPLE.com, where I cover celebrities every week.

The position has been a fascinating, revealing insider peek into the celebrity world. "Celebrity" is big business today. Celebrity is daily life today.

Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest. An intimate (yet highly tweaked and Photoshopped) peek into our favorite stars is now only a click away.

While there is little doubt that the definition of "celebrity" has changed over the past few years – whereas I once believed uncommon or unique talent (even beauty) largely defined "celebrity," I now believe that access and aspiration equally defines it.

Are certain reality "stars" gifted actors, singers, writers or inspirations? No, of course not. But they are culturally aspirational to many. And if you can make money for a network or draw readers to a magazine, if you can sell a scent or scarf, you are golden.

And yet what I have learned most about being both celebrity follower and celebrity writer is that they are – to steal from the magazine and web site for which I write – people.

Some are incredibly nice. Others not so. Most just want to fall in love, have a home, raise a family and be happy. Simple stuff.

But the majority, I realized, want desperately not only to succeed but also create. Most took a major gamble in their lives. Just like me. They followed their dreams, turned their backs on stability and ease, and leapt off a cliff.

What we don't see when we talk about celebrity are the countless number who struggled for years, who toiled at night as waiters and waitresses, and then got up at dawn to make the rounds. We don't see the writers who spent years on that novel, memoir or screenplay, not knowing if it would ever get published. We don't think of the bands and singers who play seedy bars for little money just because they must. Artists – celebrity aside – pursue their passion, even when it makes little sense.

I did. I am no celebrity, but what I've learned in writing about them is not to lament celebrities for their status, their money, their lives. Applaud them.

Because most took a risk, and for a tiny few, it paid off.

It's the same advice I give every aspiring writer: Don't write to become famous. Write because it calls to you, because you don't have a choice to do anything else in life. And don't ever, ever give up if you believe in your talent and dream.

I believe if you do just that, then great things can happen.

You may never appear on the cover of PEOPLE, or walk a red carpet in Cannes, but I guarantee you will be a star.

The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.

Go To Gay: Sentimental September

Introduction by Tracey Meyers

Those that have known me for a very long time know that mid-September is a reflective time of year for me.

Part of this has to do with the fact that Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, typically takes place around this time of year. (How can you not reflect at the beginning of a new year?)  However, a greater part of it has to do with something I don't typically talk a lot about with those outside of my inner circle - the passing of my dad, which took place almost 25 years ago.

So why do I mention it today in such a public way?  Well, today it comes up because of this month's Go-To-Gay column written by CLC Go-To-Gay (and my friend) Wade Rouse.

Upon receiving and reading this month's column, I couldn't help but immediately think of my dad.  It not only captured how I've always felt about September in general, but further embodied the emotions I feel each and every September as the anniversary of my dad's passing approaches.  Though our experiences are different, I can relate and sympathize with what Wade is currently going through.

It is for this reason, as we welcome in September I will embrace the sentiment this season brings and let it lift me up as I recall the wonderful memory of the wonderful man I got the honor of calling "dad."


Sentimental September

Even though it's been over three decades since I last lived at home and headed off to school, I swear I can still hear my father singing at the top of his lungs the moment September arrives:

Hey look me over, lend me an ear
Fresh out of clover, mortgaged up to here
Don't pass the plate folks, don't pass the cup
I figure whenever you're down and out, the only way is up

My dad was an early morning man, thanks mostly to the military. He never needed an alarm clock. As soon as the sky brightened, the first bird chirped, he was up to greet them.

I never needed an alarm clock either. My father's booming, off-key voice was enough to wake the dead. So was his banging of pots and pans, jangling of keys, and making of coffee.

For years, he was my wake-up call, and that call began with the start of school in September. No matter how old any of us are, whether we have kids, whether they're still in school or long gone, September is filled with nostalgia.

 

Though still warm, it marks the official end of summer. I can see it in the trees, some of whose leaves have turned more yellow, some of whose branches are tinged in color.

There is a return to routine, a societal flow as constant as the ever-cooling waves along the beach.

September is a sad farewell to summer and excited hello to fall: We can all recall the start of school, the ringing of the bell, the smell of the lunchroom and new books, recess, friends, old and new.

Much of September's nostalgia still applies today, even as I near 50.

As August's days end, I find myself saying goodbye to good friends I have spent time with over the summer months in our resort town, as they head back to their city lives and urban routines. Labor Day feels like an adult version of the last week of school.

Though I am sad to say goodbye to my friends – just as I was in school – there is an excitement about what lies ahead, too. September means a return to routine for me as well: Days spent waking early and writing with the windows open, evenings spent relishing the last warm days.

September's nostalgia makes it one of my favorite months. It is a middle ground for me, not only on my annual calendar but also on my calendar of life.

It is not quite summer, not quite fall, but a beautiful transition.

I am smack-dab in the middle of my own middle ground in life – not young, not old – and while I have great sentimentality for my past, it is tempered by my excitement for the future. Perhaps that is why September resonates so deeply in my soul: It still feels so young, but you realize, you know that it is aging, its days now more numbered rather than unending.

Sadly, my Septembers have become even more nostalgic, as my father is now battling dementia. He is weak but still doing well, but his memory – especially of my current life and of current events – is sketchy at best, and my heart breaks for him when he cannot recall things I've just told him.

But every September, I still ask him to sing his wake-up song – like he used to so long ago – and, amazingly, he can typically recall many of the lyrics.

And so will I, no matter how many Septembers lie ahead.


The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.

Go To Gay: In the Good Old Summertime

Introduction by Tracey Meyers

Where has this summer gone?  It's mid-July already!   

Okay, I know where it's gone... but it's still hard to believe it's halfway done.  I guess that's what happens when you're starting a new job and training for your first marathon...time just passes by in the blink of an eye. 

To help us celebrate summertime, today we have our Go-To-Gay, Wade Rouse, talking about his reflections of summers past and sharing some book recommendations.


In the Good Old Summertime

As I near 50, I’ve come to appreciate that some of the most memorable moments from my childhood were not only the simplest but also quintessentially summer: Bobbing down ice-cold streams in innertubes with my mom; fishing a quiet, deep hole with my grampa; marching in 4th of July parades, my giant trombone blaring “You’re A Grand Old Flag”; Jack Buck calling a Cardinals game over the radio; roasting marshmallows over roaring bonfires; watching fireworks boom in a night sky; reading a great book (or cheesy paperback); and making homemade ice cream, drooling while staring at that slowly rotating churn, praying for time to fly.

Well, those final prayers were granted: Time did fly, and life changed. And, sadly, so does summertime as you become an adult. We work during most of those precious weeks of glimmering sunshine. We shuttle children to the activities in which we once participated. We slide summer in when we can, like a much needed nap.

I used to take two weeks of vacation every summer and cram in as much fun as I could. I would hit city waterparks and pools, pack picnics and fight traffic to watch mammoth urban 4th of July fireworks spectaculars. I would take weeklong beach vacations, saving the other week for travel during the holidays.

But there always seemed to be something missing: That Norman Rockwell nostalgia – that feeling summer would last forever – which existed in my youth I believed that could never be rediscovered.

And then I moved to the coast of Michigan. I knew the move meant I would rediscover a slower pace away from the constant buzz of city life, but I was surprised to rediscover that slice of Americana pie, that simple beauty and nostalgic wonder that makes summer special.

In my little resort towns of Saugatuck-Douglas, I rediscovered small-town parades, complete with marching bands and hard candy thrown by kids; art festivals; lazy beach days floating in the water that led to lazy nights roasting hot dogs and marshmallows; reading a great novel (or cheesy paperback) in a hammock strung between two pine trees; farmer’s markets and fruit stands; musicians playing from a white gazebo in a park by the water.

Through this rediscovery, I rediscovered me.

Yes, I still work most summer days. In fact, now that I work for myself as a fulltime author, I seem to work harder, longer days than I ever did before, without giving myself a break. And I often travel too much away from the place that I love.

But I now find myself on summer days not sitting in an office tower, or board meeting – praying for time to fly so I could reach those precious two weeks – but writing in my office overlooking a forest of ferns and pines, or hauling my laptop to the screen porch, the roar of the lake in the distance. I savor my summer, even while working. My lunch hour is a long run along the lakeshore with a short swim in the lake, a jaunt to the local farmer’s market, or an extended break to hit the beach.

Though busy, I no longer have to cram in summer hungrily, like a melting twist cone.

In addition to rediscovering the nostalgia of summer, I have also rediscovered what I now consider to be the most precious summer gift of all: Perspective. I have the ability to understand that – although I’ve grown older, much older, much too quickly – that the most memorable moments of life – the ones that equal any book deal, TV appearance or large lecture – are the simplest. Yes, the grand moments provide a gilded frame to life, but it is the small details that make the portrait so beautiful.

Which is why, as I sit on my screen porch reading a book and listening to the sounds of summer – the moaning frogs, the whippoorwills, the crickets, the baseball game, and, of course, my old ice cream maker – I no longer pray for time to go faster, I no longer rush the magic of summer.

I sigh, I smile and I simply wait for the ice cream maker to slow.

*****

What Wade's Reading This Summer (while waiting for my ice cream)!

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
Yes, I know I'm late to the game here, but it is a stunning read – thrilling and so beautifully written at the same time. The novel is not only haunting me at the current moment but also making me jealous of Gillian's gifts.

Nantucket Sisters by Nancy Thayer
The perfect summer beach read from the "Queen of Beach Books." The novel is about two childhood friends who drift apart but find they are forever bound by the beach and to each other. Nancy writes lyrically of her home.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
I re-read a classic every summer, and this is my all-time favorite. Holden's voice and take on the world, adults, fitting in, wealth, love and death are brilliant. Moreover, Salinger's messages about pressure and expectations still feel so spot-on and important today.

The writings of bestselling humorist Wade Rouse – called “wise, witty and wicked” by USA Today and the lovechild of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris – have been featured multiple times on NBC’s Today Show as well as on Chelsea Lately on E! and People.com. His latest memoir, It’s All Relative: Two Families, Three Dogs, 34 Holidays and 50 Boxes of Wine (reviewed here) launched in paperback February 1st from Broadway, and he is creator and editor of the humorous dog anthology, I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales about Man’s Best from America’s Favorite Humorists (NAL). The book features a Foreword by Chelsea Handler’s dog, Chunk, essays by such beloved chick lit authors as Jane Green, and 50 percent of the book’s net royalties go to the Humane Society of the United States. His first memoir, America's Boy, has been re-published by Magnus Books for paperback and Kindle. For more, visit his website, or friend him on Facebook or Twitter.