I need to sell a book so I can afford to go to writers conferences to sell a book.
At next week’s annual cast party there will be at least one actor who was still in elementary school when we held our very first cast party. There may even be one who wasn’t born yet. I don’t know whether to feel pride or terror when I think about this. Fortunately, thanks to my advanced age, I’ve already forgotten what ‘this’ refers to.*
*Being ironic…about something…I forget what.
When I see the expression ‘happy trail’ in a romance I think Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.
I’m not only a writer and a director and an actor! I’m a mom! So, in order to retain my accreditation, I’m posting a link to my son’s Hulu commercial*
*At least I didn’t make you look at pictures of my grandchildren.
Here is what I have learned in the (essential) effort of condensing two years into one in a YA novel. Never ever write about suburban Chicago high school seniors in 2009. Oh, well. Too late for that epiphany.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I recognized the back of her head. Also I’ve met her at weddings twice* so this was not such a challenge. However it was just two nights ago** so I believe it’s worthy of a special mention.
*Not hers or mine
** Yes, that was the night Scalia died. No, I don’t do politics on my blog.***
***Mostly because I don’t like making people mad.
If an obsessive-compulsive accordion and a minor third had a baby the result would be the music playing in my favorite coffee. At least the heat is back.
For those* of you who read my recent post about the lack of heat in my favorite writing place, I would like to report** the heat source (whatever it may be) is still kaput, with no end in sight. So I am sitting in Starbucks (cue sound of weeping) with Pentatonix blasting in my ears, attempting to block out the conversation across the table from me. It is filled with words like ‘network’ and others I have already forgotten. Oh, wait… they left. Insert smiley face emoticon here.
*I say that foolishly hoping ‘you’ is plural.
**Figure of speech. I don’t like it at all.
They are painting my living room, and the heat is out in my favorite writing place. What to do? Writing with my coat on. No brainer.*
*Don’t get clever on me and say, “No brain.” I’m not in the mood for obvious one-liners.
When I lived in NYC (shortly after the invention of the Gramophone) Fort Greene was best known for crack, crime and badly designed and run housing projects.*
Saturday I stopped in a bookstore there (research, no, honestly). It was yuppie heaven. Only to age groups: 30-35 and under 7.
*this may be the only serious thing I ever mention on this blog. Don’t worry. I get cheerier in the second sentence.