So I was supposed to have some sort of kick-ass day on Aug 29, according to Astrologyzone.com:
"Your very best day of the month will be Tuesday, August 29, when Jupiter and Uranus will be in gorgeous angles. The only way to describe this is that it will be a cosmic gift, and news should hit when you least expect it. Your career will bring the kind of news that will make you over-the-moon happy, and in the light of what might happen earlier this month, with the tension and uncertainty, this news might seem almost miraculous when it occurs. Nothing similar to this will happen again until 2008, although you did recently enjoy this aspect in late November 2005 and early May 2006. The third time may be the charm!"
Now it’s true my memory is going but I can’t remember any “cosmic gifts” being bestowed on me that day beyond those I already have my (youth(fulness), drop-dead good looks beauty, prodigious talent, charisma, abundant personal wealth, etc.)
I do remember that day being a motherf*cking b*tch at work. I do remember my publicist in NYC telling me she wouldn’t set up a reading for me in New York because it wasn’t “worth it.”
I don’t exactly remember feeling “over-the-moon-happy” except for five minutes or so during lunch, when I was one-quarter of the way through a margarita (yes I drank a margarita at lunch, take THAT), and laughing so hard I cried. Then the margarita wore off and the witty lunch companion went back to work and I just became over-the-moon tense again, which just doesn’t have the same ring to it at all.
Nothing “miraculous” occurred that I can recall, except that I got something halfway practical done in the evening, which was to shop for furniture. I believe I also put a few things away in my condo, and gained a little ground in the war against the utter chaos of clothes, backpacks, dishes, books, unmade bed, messy closet, unpainted walls, etc etc, that is always threatening to overwhelm me.
I guess those are all miracles enough. Jupiter and Uranus probably just went to find a Gemini who needs those cosmic gifts more than me. But you know. A teeny-tiny one wouldn’t hurt. Just to tide me over to 2008.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
[Note: Do you have a funny, crazy, dating or breakup story? Post it here or send it to breakupbabe@msn.com ASAP 'cause there's this TV producer from a big-time TV show looking to put together a show about "funny dating stories." Yes, I know, dating is not really funny. It is tragic and pathetic, which is why I had to make all my stories up and put 'em in a novel, but hey - we can dig up some funny dating stories for the sake of being on TV right? Send me your good ones and I will forward on to Mr. Producer Man.]
Now for your regularly scheduled self-centeredtainment...
I have always possessed a talent for having daydreamy fun and not getting much of anything practical done.
As a child, when I was supposed to be loading the dishwasher, I took all-too-frequent breaks to pirouette around the living room as a pretend ballerina. Or I would engage in a spoken-word melodrama, with all parts played by me, talking out loud in a variety of accents as I shoved dishes into the wrong parts of the dishwasher.
To this day, I am a miserable failure at loading the dishwasher, probably because I am too busy thinking about boys, or what my next novel is going to be about (boys, probably). Ask anyone who has ever been a guest at my house and pulled a piece of "clean" tableware out of the cabinet, only to find it crusted with food relics or smeared with an unidentifiable substance. (Blame it on boys!)
My impractical and fun-loving nature is perhaps the reason I have not “settled down.” Why would I when there are so many cute boys out there to be had, so many dramas yet to be played out? Why, I wake up every morning and still wonder, “What exciting thing might happen to me today?” Oh, one day I’ll be so old and decrepit that no drama will befall me anymore and then I’ll rue the day that I never settled down and had resentful children to care for me. But that day is not coming for at least three years.
My impractical and fun-loving nature is also the reason I was able to produce a novel while working full-time. Believe me, a lot of chores were left undone during the writing of that novel. Groceries were not bought; bathrooms were not cleaned; new sheets were not purchased; husbands were not found.
I am in love with possibility and always have been, so much more than with mundane reality. I’ve managed to find a job and become a homeowner but I’ll be damned if I could tell you – two years post-purchase – what my interest rate is or how much I’ve paid off or even what the life of my loan is. (Five years? Seven years? Certainly not 30, I know that much.) I can tell you that I have one square of bright, Candyland blue painted on my bedroom wall. It has been there for a month, waiting for me to sample other colors. To make a decision and settle down with something just a little more practical.
But of course I haven’t had time to make my decision. I’ve been far too busy chasing boys, writing my next book, running around outdoors where my unpainted walls can't close me in, and loading the dishwasher very, very poorly.
Now for your regularly scheduled self-centeredtainment...
I have always possessed a talent for having daydreamy fun and not getting much of anything practical done.
As a child, when I was supposed to be loading the dishwasher, I took all-too-frequent breaks to pirouette around the living room as a pretend ballerina. Or I would engage in a spoken-word melodrama, with all parts played by me, talking out loud in a variety of accents as I shoved dishes into the wrong parts of the dishwasher.
To this day, I am a miserable failure at loading the dishwasher, probably because I am too busy thinking about boys, or what my next novel is going to be about (boys, probably). Ask anyone who has ever been a guest at my house and pulled a piece of "clean" tableware out of the cabinet, only to find it crusted with food relics or smeared with an unidentifiable substance. (Blame it on boys!)
My impractical and fun-loving nature is perhaps the reason I have not “settled down.” Why would I when there are so many cute boys out there to be had, so many dramas yet to be played out? Why, I wake up every morning and still wonder, “What exciting thing might happen to me today?” Oh, one day I’ll be so old and decrepit that no drama will befall me anymore and then I’ll rue the day that I never settled down and had resentful children to care for me. But that day is not coming for at least three years.
My impractical and fun-loving nature is also the reason I was able to produce a novel while working full-time. Believe me, a lot of chores were left undone during the writing of that novel. Groceries were not bought; bathrooms were not cleaned; new sheets were not purchased; husbands were not found.
I am in love with possibility and always have been, so much more than with mundane reality. I’ve managed to find a job and become a homeowner but I’ll be damned if I could tell you – two years post-purchase – what my interest rate is or how much I’ve paid off or even what the life of my loan is. (Five years? Seven years? Certainly not 30, I know that much.) I can tell you that I have one square of bright, Candyland blue painted on my bedroom wall. It has been there for a month, waiting for me to sample other colors. To make a decision and settle down with something just a little more practical.
But of course I haven’t had time to make my decision. I’ve been far too busy chasing boys, writing my next book, running around outdoors where my unpainted walls can't close me in, and loading the dishwasher very, very poorly.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Reminder: before I start this self-indulgent post: I am reading tomorrow night at Queen Anne Books at 6:30 p.m.!
This has been a summer full of fun and flirtation with a current of sadness underneath. It’s been a summer of worry and tension headaches and trying to settle into the identity of published author. What does that mean? How do I promote my book and write another one at the same time? Hold down a demanding full time job?
Many new things have started, which are exciting, but transition is hard. Even when the new things are better, you long for the old, comforting things.
I am thrilled my book is out in the world but this birth has brought with it a whole slew of worry and insecurity. Let’s not even talk about the jealousy that comes with being a writer (Anne Lamott says it all so much better than me anyway) and the way you hyperventilate with each of your writer friends’ successes. (Soon they are going to be fabulously succesful bestellers sipping margaritas on their own private island while you waste away in a dark office like Bartleby the scrivener, returned unto the obscurity from which you barely emerged after writing your first -- and only -- book.).
I miss, just a tiny bit, the days when all I did was work and write and hope – when I wasn’t a published author and didn’t worry constantly about how my book was doing, and when would I write a next one, what is my Amazon ranking, how is so-and-so’s book doing compared to mine (though of course thank you LORD or whoever for letting me get published, don't think for one moment I take it for granted, NO!) I miss, a bit, the lazy days at Club Geeksoft, where my schedule was flexible and my mornings relaxed. My new job is so much better for me – so much more interesting, and dynamic, and glamorous, and fun – but still. I have to hustle and my writing suffers for it.
I miss, too, my ex boyfriend. His intelligence and his power and grace. The way he wrapped himself around me in his tiny bed on cold nights. The way his smile cracked the world wide open. Yet I always struggled for what to say to him (and I am not a person who likes to struggle for words). I could never quite be myself with him, and so I knew, eventually it would end though I tried to believe otherwise because it was so sexy and happy and fun (that last doomed month aside).
I am a person who seeks out change and variety but I'm thrashing through it right now. I could use an anchor. For now, my friends and family and my friend's kids anchor me. Barely. And so does my writing (my next book is 15,000 horrible words in the making.)
I think I can hold on till things calm down in my head. But just in case, check for fragments of my brain lying around tomorrow. They might be worth a lot of money someday -- if my book does well, that is.
This has been a summer full of fun and flirtation with a current of sadness underneath. It’s been a summer of worry and tension headaches and trying to settle into the identity of published author. What does that mean? How do I promote my book and write another one at the same time? Hold down a demanding full time job?
Many new things have started, which are exciting, but transition is hard. Even when the new things are better, you long for the old, comforting things.
I am thrilled my book is out in the world but this birth has brought with it a whole slew of worry and insecurity. Let’s not even talk about the jealousy that comes with being a writer (Anne Lamott says it all so much better than me anyway) and the way you hyperventilate with each of your writer friends’ successes. (Soon they are going to be fabulously succesful bestellers sipping margaritas on their own private island while you waste away in a dark office like Bartleby the scrivener, returned unto the obscurity from which you barely emerged after writing your first -- and only -- book.).
I miss, just a tiny bit, the days when all I did was work and write and hope – when I wasn’t a published author and didn’t worry constantly about how my book was doing, and when would I write a next one, what is my Amazon ranking, how is so-and-so’s book doing compared to mine (though of course thank you LORD or whoever for letting me get published, don't think for one moment I take it for granted, NO!) I miss, a bit, the lazy days at Club Geeksoft, where my schedule was flexible and my mornings relaxed. My new job is so much better for me – so much more interesting, and dynamic, and glamorous, and fun – but still. I have to hustle and my writing suffers for it.
I miss, too, my ex boyfriend. His intelligence and his power and grace. The way he wrapped himself around me in his tiny bed on cold nights. The way his smile cracked the world wide open. Yet I always struggled for what to say to him (and I am not a person who likes to struggle for words). I could never quite be myself with him, and so I knew, eventually it would end though I tried to believe otherwise because it was so sexy and happy and fun (that last doomed month aside).
I am a person who seeks out change and variety but I'm thrashing through it right now. I could use an anchor. For now, my friends and family and my friend's kids anchor me. Barely. And so does my writing (my next book is 15,000 horrible words in the making.)
I think I can hold on till things calm down in my head. But just in case, check for fragments of my brain lying around tomorrow. They might be worth a lot of money someday -- if my book does well, that is.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
So my head has been off in the stratosphere, worrying, spinning, trying desperately to balance everything that is going on – workbooknewbookboysshouldIpaythousandsofdollarsforapublicistetcetc-meanwhile a mean old tension headache has wrapped itself around my head and won’t go away. Either that or a brain tumor.
At least I’m writing every day. I appear to be writing a novel that takes place at a camp. So many of my most vivid memories come from camp, be it the hippy dippy camp I went as a youngster, where I felt “cool” for the first time in my life or the camp where I worked as a drama counselor, furiously writing a plays every two weeks for the campers to perform, and falling much too madly in love with another counselor.
I have constant fantasies of escape these days. My Patagonia trip, now five long months ago, has receded into the distance. I can no longer call up the feelings of peace and relaxation that I got from slogging up snowy passes and staring at giant glaciers. There I didn’t define myself by the usual things. My identity fell away – I didn’t have to brag about my hot boyfriend or my book; I couldn’t make myself up or blow-dry my hair; no one knew who I was and no one cared, so really, I was just me – unadorned and unencumbered by all the things I usually tried to define myself by.
So I’m dreaming of escape again. Moving to a cottage in the Cotswolds where I’ll write children’s books and tend my roses. Becoming full-blown travel writer like my friend Amanda, who is always off on another trip – to Norway, Alaska, South Africa. Getting a writing residency somewhere cool, with my own little cabin to write in. At the very least, going to a beach somewhere where I can lie in the sand and my headache will go away. All these things are possible, at least, which makes me happy. If there’s one thing I’ve always thrived on, it’s possibility.
Right now I can only escape in my head, for about an hour a day, to this fictional camp full of confused but lovable characters whose souls are soothed by sleeping in the trees and seeing the stars, by singing songs around the campfire, by falling in love and sneaking off to treehouses. For now, it will have to do. That and the mountains.
At least I’m writing every day. I appear to be writing a novel that takes place at a camp. So many of my most vivid memories come from camp, be it the hippy dippy camp I went as a youngster, where I felt “cool” for the first time in my life or the camp where I worked as a drama counselor, furiously writing a plays every two weeks for the campers to perform, and falling much too madly in love with another counselor.
I have constant fantasies of escape these days. My Patagonia trip, now five long months ago, has receded into the distance. I can no longer call up the feelings of peace and relaxation that I got from slogging up snowy passes and staring at giant glaciers. There I didn’t define myself by the usual things. My identity fell away – I didn’t have to brag about my hot boyfriend or my book; I couldn’t make myself up or blow-dry my hair; no one knew who I was and no one cared, so really, I was just me – unadorned and unencumbered by all the things I usually tried to define myself by.
So I’m dreaming of escape again. Moving to a cottage in the Cotswolds where I’ll write children’s books and tend my roses. Becoming full-blown travel writer like my friend Amanda, who is always off on another trip – to Norway, Alaska, South Africa. Getting a writing residency somewhere cool, with my own little cabin to write in. At the very least, going to a beach somewhere where I can lie in the sand and my headache will go away. All these things are possible, at least, which makes me happy. If there’s one thing I’ve always thrived on, it’s possibility.
Right now I can only escape in my head, for about an hour a day, to this fictional camp full of confused but lovable characters whose souls are soothed by sleeping in the trees and seeing the stars, by singing songs around the campfire, by falling in love and sneaking off to treehouses. For now, it will have to do. That and the mountains.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Hello Darlings.
For those of you that live in the following cities:
Chicago,
Vancouver
New York City
Washington DC
Los Angeles
Do you have favorite independent bookstores that you think might be a good place for yours truly to come speak? (And thanks for the offers to let me come stay, you do know I’m going to take you up on them, don’t you? )
In other news, I have no life anymore. My “social life” consists of drinking myself into a red wine stupor and watching movies on what was formerly the Little Red Couch O’ Love, then getting into bed at 10 p.m. so I can get up “early,” write, go to work all day, actually work, (sometimes write again after work), drink myself into red wine stupor, go to bed at 10 p.m. etc.
Consequently I have written thousands of words written lately – thousands of horrible words – but that’s not what matters because they are all horrible when they first come out. The trick is sticking with it until they become less horrible.
OK OK I guess I’m managing to fit in few things here and there – bike rides, backpacking trips, dinners in swank restaurants, television appearances, etc. etc. But it's not easy!
Oh – speaking of appearances, take note! I have the following readings coming up:
Thursday, August 24, 6:30 p.m.
Reception & Booksigning (with mocktails!)
Queen Anne Books
1811 Queen Anne Avenue, North
Seattle, WA
Friday, September 8, 7:30 p.m.
Village Books
1200 11th Street
Bellingham, WA
For your further entertainment, check out this interview with me on Conversations with Famous Writers.
OK I am sick of myself for now and I am sure you are too.
xo
BB
For those of you that live in the following cities:
Do you have favorite independent bookstores that you think might be a good place for yours truly to come speak? (And thanks for the offers to let me come stay, you do know I’m going to take you up on them, don’t you? )
In other news, I have no life anymore. My “social life” consists of drinking myself into a red wine stupor and watching movies on what was formerly the Little Red Couch O’ Love, then getting into bed at 10 p.m. so I can get up “early,” write, go to work all day, actually work, (sometimes write again after work), drink myself into red wine stupor, go to bed at 10 p.m. etc.
Consequently I have written thousands of words written lately – thousands of horrible words – but that’s not what matters because they are all horrible when they first come out. The trick is sticking with it until they become less horrible.
OK OK I guess I’m managing to fit in few things here and there – bike rides, backpacking trips, dinners in swank restaurants, television appearances, etc. etc. But it's not easy!
Oh – speaking of appearances, take note! I have the following readings coming up:
Thursday, August 24, 6:30 p.m.
Reception & Booksigning (with mocktails!)
Queen Anne Books
1811 Queen Anne Avenue, North
Seattle, WA
Friday, September 8, 7:30 p.m.
Village Books
1200 11th Street
Bellingham, WA
For your further entertainment, check out this interview with me on Conversations with Famous Writers.
OK I am sick of myself for now and I am sure you are too.
xo
BB
Monday, August 14, 2006
Sometimes I go a few days without checking my mailbox because, yawn, what is in there except boring junk mail and bills?
Well yesterday I received a beautiful pair of earrings in the mail and all I had to do to get them was write a novel!
Yes, I have to thank the talented Ruth Avra, who wrote me a while ago and offered to give me a piece of handcrafted jewelry just because she liked my book so much.
Now that kind of reader love I can really get behind! Jewelry - whoohoo! If there are any designers out there who would like to start loaning me dresses for the red carpet - please, I have room in my closet (since everything is in a ball on the floor). Or, you know, anyone who wants to give me any kind of gift.
In other news, I am extremely tense and neurotic at the moment - not for any one reason, but because everything in my life is in transition, and I have not been on a tropical vacation in far too long. Snorkeling is is one of my top five favorite activities, up there with reading, writing, eating, and kissing. I've been doing plenty of the other four - but no snorkeling! Anyone like to donate a tropical vacation?
xo
BB
Well yesterday I received a beautiful pair of earrings in the mail and all I had to do to get them was write a novel!
Yes, I have to thank the talented Ruth Avra, who wrote me a while ago and offered to give me a piece of handcrafted jewelry just because she liked my book so much.
Now that kind of reader love I can really get behind! Jewelry - whoohoo! If there are any designers out there who would like to start loaning me dresses for the red carpet - please, I have room in my closet (since everything is in a ball on the floor). Or, you know, anyone who wants to give me any kind of gift.
In other news, I am extremely tense and neurotic at the moment - not for any one reason, but because everything in my life is in transition, and I have not been on a tropical vacation in far too long. Snorkeling is is one of my top five favorite activities, up there with reading, writing, eating, and kissing. I've been doing plenty of the other four - but no snorkeling! Anyone like to donate a tropical vacation?
xo
BB
Saturday, August 12, 2006
I have come to the unsettling realization that my new crop of coworkers are much more stylish than my coworkers at Club Geeksoft. Not that this is hard to manage - the favored attire at C.G. was a fleece vest bearing a Geeksoft logo over an extra-large t-shirt bearing a Geeksoft logo, with perhaps a baseball cap with a Geeksoft logo to top it all off.
No wonder that for four years I felt like a fashion queen without even trying!
Now, however, when I show up to work with unwashed hair and my stained shirts (at least they don't bear Geeksoft logos!) and sensible sandals, I'm forced to realize I no longer reign supreme.
Oh sure, I can bring it when it matters, 'cause after all, I am Breakup Babe! But on weekday mornings, I now sacrifice my looks for Art. I sacrifice good hair for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I sacrifice a nice outfit for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I'm sacrificing (what's left of) my youth for an extra 20 minutes of writing!
Ahem.
Tonight, at least, I am going to a swank wedding wearing a very sexy dress. Of course I don't have the right jewelry for it, but at least, in my early-summer spending frenzy during which I spent a million dollars on a single suit that I wear for every single television appearance, I purchase some shoes that go with the dress. No doubt the dress is stained somewhere and I will discover that as soon as I go to put it on.
Once I become rich and famous, I will hire a stylist. For now, I remain stained and wrinkled, and oh so superficial -
Yours,
BB
No wonder that for four years I felt like a fashion queen without even trying!
Now, however, when I show up to work with unwashed hair and my stained shirts (at least they don't bear Geeksoft logos!) and sensible sandals, I'm forced to realize I no longer reign supreme.
Oh sure, I can bring it when it matters, 'cause after all, I am Breakup Babe! But on weekday mornings, I now sacrifice my looks for Art. I sacrifice good hair for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I sacrifice a nice outfit for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I'm sacrificing (what's left of) my youth for an extra 20 minutes of writing!
Ahem.
Tonight, at least, I am going to a swank wedding wearing a very sexy dress. Of course I don't have the right jewelry for it, but at least, in my early-summer spending frenzy during which I spent a million dollars on a single suit that I wear for every single television appearance, I purchase some shoes that go with the dress. No doubt the dress is stained somewhere and I will discover that as soon as I go to put it on.
Once I become rich and famous, I will hire a stylist. For now, I remain stained and wrinkled, and oh so superficial -
Yours,
BB
Tuesday, August 8, 2006
I am trying to become a morning person. So far it is not really working out but it is early in the campaign. I have determined that the only way for me to 1)promote this book 2)write a new one and 3)keep my current job is for me to go to bed at some ridiculously early hour and arise with the sun.
Note that I did not include "have a social life" on that list. I no longer work at Club Geeksoft, where I could party all night, rise late, write, roll in whenever, and get paid an astronomical salary. I now work harder, get paid less, and won't have time to write unless I take draconian measures! Not that I'm complaining mind you, I'm just SAYING.
In more positive news, I am hiring a new publicist and plan to go on a star-spangled U.S. tour in my glittery pink tour bus! OK I don't have the tour bus yet and I don't know how much of the U.S. I'll hit, but it will be a few of the big metro areas. And if you offer me a place to stay, I might even come to your town! I'm also gonna get on Oprah! Or Dr. Phil! Or Northwest Afternoon! Oh wait - I AM on Northwest Afternoon or I will be!
I already taped the show; it airs August 24. I sunk to new levels of degradation with this appearance by providing them with a photo of me and Loser (as requested)- each one of us standing on either side of the equator. I instructed them not to show his face because Lord knows he will sue me at the slightest provocation - and so they blacked out his face! Cheese. O. Rama. But I know you would sell your soul in a second for celebrity too, don't say you wouldn't. Or at least your ex-boyfriend's soul.
Thank you all once again for your comments, notes, and praise for the book. If I have not responded to your e-mail, your request for a free book (there are still a very few left!) or a *signed bookplate* (plenty of those too!) rest assured I will get to it.
And now, can we please have a moment of silence to mourn the passing of my favorite hat - a present from GalPal #2. I do believe it is finally lost and gone forever. It's a miracle that I was able to keep it this long (3 years!) without losing it. Here is a picture of my hat (and me) in front of some big old glacier in Patagonia, which is famous, but I forget the name.
(F*ck. The Blogger photo software is not working. I will insert the photo later. Picture me in a charming pink, striped cap here.)
RIP hat.
I have not gotten to kiss the construction worker much in the last few days, except in my head, that is. In my head, his lips are soft and his abs are hard -- just like in real life. Sometimes you don't need a lot of imagination.
Speaking of imagination (and I know this blog entry just goes on and on), I realize that by being a writer I am simply continuing to do my favorite childhood activity, which is pretend. When I don't get to write (pretend) for at least a couple hours a day, the world seems so drab. I remember saying to my mom once, "Isn't it boring to be an adult - you don't get to pretend!"
Well, lucky me, I turned out to be a writer. It's just now I'm gonna have to start getting up at the crack of dawn to get my two hours of pretend in. Poor me!
xo
BB
Note that I did not include "have a social life" on that list. I no longer work at Club Geeksoft, where I could party all night, rise late, write, roll in whenever, and get paid an astronomical salary. I now work harder, get paid less, and won't have time to write unless I take draconian measures! Not that I'm complaining mind you, I'm just SAYING.
In more positive news, I am hiring a new publicist and plan to go on a star-spangled U.S. tour in my glittery pink tour bus! OK I don't have the tour bus yet and I don't know how much of the U.S. I'll hit, but it will be a few of the big metro areas. And if you offer me a place to stay, I might even come to your town! I'm also gonna get on Oprah! Or Dr. Phil! Or Northwest Afternoon! Oh wait - I AM on Northwest Afternoon or I will be!
I already taped the show; it airs August 24. I sunk to new levels of degradation with this appearance by providing them with a photo of me and Loser (as requested)- each one of us standing on either side of the equator. I instructed them not to show his face because Lord knows he will sue me at the slightest provocation - and so they blacked out his face! Cheese. O. Rama. But I know you would sell your soul in a second for celebrity too, don't say you wouldn't. Or at least your ex-boyfriend's soul.
Thank you all once again for your comments, notes, and praise for the book. If I have not responded to your e-mail, your request for a free book (there are still a very few left!) or a *signed bookplate* (plenty of those too!) rest assured I will get to it.
And now, can we please have a moment of silence to mourn the passing of my favorite hat - a present from GalPal #2. I do believe it is finally lost and gone forever. It's a miracle that I was able to keep it this long (3 years!) without losing it. Here is a picture of my hat (and me) in front of some big old glacier in Patagonia, which is famous, but I forget the name.
(F*ck. The Blogger photo software is not working. I will insert the photo later. Picture me in a charming pink, striped cap here.)
RIP hat.
I have not gotten to kiss the construction worker much in the last few days, except in my head, that is. In my head, his lips are soft and his abs are hard -- just like in real life. Sometimes you don't need a lot of imagination.
Speaking of imagination (and I know this blog entry just goes on and on), I realize that by being a writer I am simply continuing to do my favorite childhood activity, which is pretend. When I don't get to write (pretend) for at least a couple hours a day, the world seems so drab. I remember saying to my mom once, "Isn't it boring to be an adult - you don't get to pretend!"
Well, lucky me, I turned out to be a writer. It's just now I'm gonna have to start getting up at the crack of dawn to get my two hours of pretend in. Poor me!
xo
BB
Friday, August 4, 2006
So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!
Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.
HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!
Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.
Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.
YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.
HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!
Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.
Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.
YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!
Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.
HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!
Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.
Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.
YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.
HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!
Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.
Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.
YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
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