An open Christmas greeting to Nordstrom, in Haiku form:

Grand Dame of the North

Nordstrom brings festive Christmas

Thank you, Seattle!

So, it really is the little things. Of course, being cited by TIME magazine isn't exactly "little", my pretties! Charlie Brown, it appears, is making a ... no, TIME Entertainment journalist Graeme McMillan says don't call it a comeback. Charlie Brown is having a great revival and, apparently, the Peanuts tribute I scribed for the  2010 San Diego Comic-Con Souvenir Book, First Beagle on the Moon, made the grade as "Peanuts source material". Ah, being a dork pays off, it seems.

Please, feel free to enjoy JennyPop's commemoration of Peanuts' 60th anniversary: "First Beagle on the Moon".

Read all my SDCC Souvenir Book articles here!

Follow @JennyPopCom Twitter and Insta

JennyPop's Amazon Author Page, to boot!

For all you poor mooks whom did not make it to San Diego Comic-Con 2012, or did and possibly lost, tossed or neglected your coveted Official Souvenir Book, unaware of the gems contained therein, I feel sad that you missed out on my Tarzan article. You should feel bad; it was good enough to garner me a personal invitation to meet the one, the only Dr. Jane Goodall! Where? A banquet in Tarzana, of course! (Long-time readers might recall my Disney methods used to inspire the finished product.) Well, no worries, jelly beans! There’s still time to mend your silly ways. Swing on over to my tree, grab a Sailor Jerry Banana Hammock and read my article here!

This easy, breezy, beautiful day along the San Diego coast, I offer a delightful surprise, for me anyway: a humbling and downright awesome follow-up review to my Skype interview about The Darlings of Orange County with Natalie Wright. As I mentioned previously, Natalie calls 'em likes she sees 'em. Lucky pour Moi, she sees 'em a far cry from Fifty Shades of Grey. Phew!

Cheers, babies! It's me, Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of the Hotel del Coronado and it's June! You know what that means? Summer is mere days away and San Diego Comic-Con 2012 is a mere month away!

No one is more excited than Yours Truly ... well, okay. I imagine there are some nibbling their fingernails a tad more than I. After all, part of the appeal of our Comic-Con is that it's in glorious San Diego. I get to live here year round, kids, haunting my dilly of a Hotel Del. If you're zinging your way here for the Con and it's your first time in San Diego, we welcome you, one and all! Need some priceless, insider tips on all the SDCC how-tos? Check the SDCC Expert for Baby's First Comic-Con.

One doesn't have to read The Darlings of Orange County during the summertime, but it's certainly the best time to do so! Author Jennifer Susannah Devore, best-known for her Savannah of Williamsburg historical-fiction series, waded deep into the skanky end of the pool for this bikini-and-martini novel. She tried something different, stretching far out of her comfort zone.

Drawing on inspiration from, among myriad, other sources, Arrested Development, 30 Rock and Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic series, Jennifer S. Devore has crafted a seedy, surfy, silliy, sandy and sexy Orange County: a gauche glimpse into the O.C.'s (Don't call it that.) nipped, tucked and royally %ucked underbelly. If you think Bravo's The Real Housewives of Orange County is a tacky, cautionary tale, take note. The Darlings of Orange County is your best How Not to Succeed in Entertainment guide. Perfect for reading poolside with a frosty Tequila Sunrise, or on the beach with a classy, cranberry can of Sofia by Coppola Blanc De Blancs wine.

 From the start The Darlings of Orange County reads like a film: pirates, sexy Swedes, beautiful surfers, brooding femme fatale brunettes and volatile redheads running amok amidst the sunny and sandy shores and stores of Newport, Laguna and Dana Point. Natch, any writer will tell you their book should be a narrative film. Yet, clearly some scream for the marquis lights more than others. I mean, just look at the cover art!

Here's the question I posit to those of you whom have read the book: who do you envision in the various roles? Sure, many of the main and supporting characters are dysfunctional, self-obsessed, superego, mendacious murderers, drug dealers and all-around finks; yet, like any good Anne Rice novel, most of them are also hiding some innate goodness and are preternaturally beautiful, without aesthetic flaw. They are mathematically perfect specimens with hearts of bronze.

Suffice it to say there's an opening or two for the likes of Brad Pitt (Kalifornia-Brad, not Benjamin Button-Brad), Matthew McConaughey, Zach Galifianakas, Parker Posey, Adrianne Curry, Anne Hathaway, Ed Helms, Sofia Vergara and the like. Bien-sur, scribbled on a Hello Kitty piece of notepaper, I have my definitive actor wishlist: distinct actors paired with specific characters. Oh sure, I suppose I'll have to sign Johnny Depp, Robert Downey, Jr., Conan O'Brien and some of the other stars dotted throughout the pages. Still, who's your John Everyman playing Pardo, Ryan or Tucker; who's the Betty-next--door playing Veronica, Kieran, Astrid or Sasha?

As far as Chet Darling goes, the scruffy, sketchy, Captain Ronesque land-pirate who lives on a broken down yacht in Dana Point harbor, subsisting by making canvas covers for boats and costumes for Renaissance Faire folk? It's Zach Galifianakis (The Hangover, Muppets Most Wanted) and only Zach on my dream casting list.

Clearly, the title needs to lap dance on the right people.  If you were the right lap, who would you cast? Head to Amazon's The Darlings of Orange County forum to see whom other readers envision and let your wishes and fantasies be known! If you're shy, you can even just write us a note here at our Contact page; we'll pass it along to Jerry Bruckheimer personally! Tell Hollywood it's time to bring some H-town sizzle to the shores of the O.C. (Psst. BTW, don't call it that.) Film rights still available. Tweet

What a pleasant surprise Savannah of Williamsburg is.  At first glance I thought a story about a squirrel who comes to Colonial Virginia, dressed in pretty frocks and traveling with a steamer trunk and a violin would not be my cup of tea.  But I’m game, so I started reading.

Ciao, kittens! Hannah Hart, ghostdame here. Spring's in full swing and all's swell here at the Hotel Del. Dr. Lucy and I are in the early stages of prepping for San Diego Comic-Con 2012. Costumes are the projet du jour and Lucy's going steampunk with a mad vengeance. It's all Airship Pirates and Parasol Protectorate around here. Apropos to Comic-Con, my dear pally, Miss Jenny, is wringing her hands awaiting word on her article submitted to the fine editors at the official Comic-Con Souvenir Book: That Other Jane: 100 Years of Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, Heartbreaker.

An accomplished author in her own right, Miss Jenny's got some opinions about the publishing world and I got to thinking about her and all the other poor mooks out there writing, publishing and turning bloody blue as they scratch and claw, day-in and day-out, for someone, anyone to notice them. Natch, I pondered further, might the keen writers of eras gone by, say, Laura Ingalls Wilder or Beatrix Potter, thrill in the elixir of today’s social networking opportunities? Or, might they flounder and panic futilely to extricate themselves from the inescapable tar pits of literary masturbation and personal promotion.

In an episode of Little House on the Prairie the television series, Laura Ingalls, as a burgeoning writer, contributes to and wins an amateur writing contest. The prize? She gets her stories published by a big city publisher: St. Louis or New York, I don't recall. The twist? She turns down the offer when she realizes the publishing pills want to jazz up her innocuous Ma and Pa tales. (Seems execs haven't changed much over the years.) Walking away, her moxie and integrity in tact, our pretty, perky and plain prairie protagonist eventually does earn a book deal and, thankfully for us, we have the Little House series of books today. Whilst her publisher and agent would sell her charm and tout her words around the country, Half-pint had to do her share, too. She wrote the books. That used to be the hard part. Were she writing today, her bloomers and corset would need a good starching to keep her steady on the course and stop her from doing a swan dive under Ma's quilt, grabbing her fave stuffed bunny, Mr. Sniffles, and giving up altogether, 'cause today's book business is brutal, babies.

Knowing a thing or two, about a thing or two where indie publishers and authors are concerned, not to mention those backed by traditional, big publishing houses, it's clear to this ghostdame that your worldwide, 24/7, omnipresent, vlogging, blogging, iReporting, YouTubing kind of social media and promo possibilities are the bane of the solitary writer. Around every proverbial corner there's some slimy crumb bumping his gums about how the worthless and pathetic can be better writers. Nasty and hateful industry insiders, bored readers and armchair critics tell the aspiring schlubs regularly how much they suck eggs. The need and ability to incessantly and shamelessly plug, ply, hawk, rationalize and apologize for one’s precious wares morphs the once-quiet and pensive writer into a mealy-mouthed carnival barker.

Now it seems to me most writers crave attention: needy little bastards. Whether or not they inherently have the ability to market their work to elicit that attention is another story. Miss Jenny did a number of book signings back East at good ol’ fashioned Barnes & Noble brick-and-mortar stores, not to mention Borders and Waldenbooks shops. Remember those, kids? She was also a fixture in Colonial Williamsburg, schlepping her Savannah of Williamsburg books alongside more than few notable authors and historians. Jim Lehrer, Edward Cline, Dr. Phyllis Haislip and a gentleman whom is considered to be the worldwide authority on Thomas Jefferson, Dr. Alf Mapp, just to name a few.

With the exception of Jim Lehrer, being a tough bird to get close to, she spoke often with these folks and found many of them, even those traditionally published by the big houses, spent as much time as she did booking appearances, wrangling events, scheduling book signings and even printing their own event signage. Want a real-life sob story? Here ya go.

One of these prolific authors waited nearly a year for royalty checks, was eventually sent a pittance check and then the publisher filed for reorganization, a.k.a. bankruptcy. Amazingly, the bankruptcy court forced him to return the wee check, dismissed the royalties owed altogether and allowed the publisher to keep the titles. Zowie! Talk about getting whacked with a bag of nickels by a bunch of goons. To wit, some, but not the rightfully pissed off author in question, have dutifully joined the dance of the social networks to aid in their publishers' quest for the almighty review, movie option and American dollar.

For those whom deign to seek it, there exists more online advice and how-tos for the tentative scrivener than Spongebob had excuses to put off writing his driving essay for Mrs. Puff. Countless editing fora, manuscript submission no-nos, insider agent tips, the psychology of cover art, character development webinars and marketing strategies up the wazoo flood not just the search engines, but the writer’s tenuous and wobbly noggin. From what I know about the delicate genius, writing-by-committee is painful. Seek ye just a single, golden thread to pull one over the wall and kapow! the poor, unsuspecting wordsmith is floored and buried with a dump truck of frayed, worthless bits of twine too short and thin to use anywhere.

Even Anne Rice –a moment of silent respect, please- comprehends the importance of Tweeting and Facebooking as she socializes and shares personal musings, liberal politics, current affairs, photos of her kitty, Little Prince Oberon, and, of course, updates of book signings and reviews. People of the Page, she dubs her fans and followers. Miss Jenny is an Anne devotee and thus, a Person of the Page.

Not only are Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Smashwords, SmartGirl, Blogger and the like literary campgrounds for amateur and professional writers alike, but the Wellborn of Wordsmithing have pitched their tents in cyberspace as well. Besides Anne, J.K. Rowling, Steve Martin, Peter Mayle, Bill Bryson, Brian Jacques, Sophie Kinsella, Gail Carriger and even Half-pint have succumbed.

I like to think Laura Ingalls Wilder, Beatrix Potter, Hunter S. Thompson, Charles Dickens, Bram Stoker, Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Geoffrey Chaucer, Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Wm. Shakespeare -or Henry Wriothesley, 3^rd Earl of Southampton or Sir Robert Cecil or whomever it is we’re learning might have "been Shakespeare”- would have not shoved their work in our faces at every turn. I also like to think that some of them would have loved the idea of social media. You just know Mark Twain, HST and Ernest Hemingway would have delighted in followers, fans and friends, from afar, and would have certainly used the proverbial 140 to its pithiest and volatile best.

It’s a double-edged sword indeed, kittens. In my day, if you could write like F. Scott Fitzgerald and you were fortunate enough to get noticed or have the right connections, you could be a superstar. Just sit back, drink your scotch, holiday in Paris and let the industry professionals take on the lion’s share of the legwork. Being an author had cache because it was a rarity. It was a nearly impossible title to attain because one had to stand out in the crowd. Today, anyone may write, whether or not they can write. Of course, there lies an upside to the barrage of opportunity available online.

No need for Algonquin Roundtable connections anymore. Can't get into the New Yorker cafe? No worries, dollface. You write it, you publish it, you sell it, you market it. Of course, there’s a lot of cut-rate writing out there; but there are a lot of great oeuvres, too, that we might have never seen without the Internet. The keys to the kingdom are no longer necessary and some of the unknown and worthy are busting through the front gates, pens blazing. The Internet, Amazon in particular, is like the Ellis Island of Bookland. Enter its turnstiles and leave the starched Old World with its stern Old Ways behind you. Opportunity beckons on every street corner, but, writer, beware ... so do the scams, cheats, sure-things and a nasty, blistering rash if you’re not careful.

Lucy's finding all kinds of goodies to buy at Clockwork and that got me thinking about another commercial marriage that might have flourished, but we'll never know. See, if Laura Ingalls could be prone to Tweeting, Mrs. Harriet Olseon could certainly embrace the new culture easily, culling “friends” and patrons from the world over and redirecting them to her Joomla website: populated with goods from Olseon's Mercantile as well as drop-ship, throw-away, plastic crap from Singapore and China. Nels, I’m pretty sure, would not have been allowed admin permissions.

By the way, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s current tweet @HalfPintIngalls: I know Almanzo is really into Morgan horses but... uh, should I be concerned that I found THIS in his stocking drawer?

Abyssinia, cats!

Hannah's fave place to haunt online? www.jennypop.com @JennyPopCom Facebook/Savannah of Williamsburg & Facebook/The Darlings of Orange County ... 'cause she kinda has to.

For Immediate Release

The Darlings of Orange County Stings H-town with Sexy Salacious Satire

San Diego, CA - March 27, 2012 - Author, Jennifer S. Devore, will release her 4th book, a work of fiction, The Darlings of Orange County. The novel will be released in Kindle, Nook, and epub formats

Veronica Darling has an image problem; nobody knows who she is. To get noticed in the literary and entertainment worlds, she soils her soul to bring Hollywood to the California Riviera.

The Darlings of Orange County is a salacious, hysterical and murderous romp that's overflowing and pulsating, like a bikini top that's way too small, with eco-terrorism, horseracing scandals, sleazy drug deals and an obligatory lipstick-lesbian affair. It all leads to a white-knuckled climax in a glitzy, celebrity-encrusted, Laguna Beach film premiere that spells success for Veronica Darling and trouble for her friends and family.