Some responses:

hi lady! saw your cute msg on your blog this morning... butyour "Happy V D!!!!!" looks like Happy VD (as in theSTD)...haha!!

I can’t believe I am 32 and did not notice until I saw your blog today that the initials for Valentine’s Day are V.D.

...It's getting around.

By the way - you deserve to fall in love. You do.

Happy V D!!!!!

Anyway...

Congratulations to two of the kindest, smartest, sweetest people I know, who are getting married to each other. It's always wonderful when good things happen to good people!!

(And no, I don't mean Mary Kay Leto*rneau and Vili Fual*uu, although as a scoop in today's Seattle Post-Intellgencer, they are getting married in April.)

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

If you're feeling down, look at something really cute.

For those interested in publishing and the vagaries and acceptance and rejection, Publisher's Lunch tells us:

"Today we are treated to two new installments on traditional publishing tales that we're sure would leave an innocent visitor from Mars thoroughly confused: Tom Wolfe's I AM CHARLOTTE SIMMONS is a bust because reviewers hated it and it has only sold 250,000 Bookscan-tracked copies or so (NYT), while Sam Lipsyte's HOME LAND is triumphant, published after being turned down by 30 editors and selling a little over 2,000 Bookscan-tracked trade paperbacks in six weeks. Curiously, both stories lead back to Farrar, Straus."

http://www.observer.com/pages/frontpage4.asp

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Now, that's a sweet potato: 6 tons of pot were shipped to the U.S. in some yams.

Wait a second, I just had a sort of related but not sooo related thought. People are always saying that Shaggy from Scooby Doo was a pothead. But what about the name Scooby "Doobie" Doo? Hmm. And come to think about it, what about "Mr. Doo-Bee" from Romper Room?

I can't believe that all these things were hidden in my '70s TV as a kid. Damn. That's what happens when Hippies get influential jobs.

Now go smoke some yams.

If a PR person calls me and says the following:

"Hi, Caren. How are you? I'm calling to let you know about an event that's happening this Friday in Orange, New Jersey."

Does she really care how I are?

Gawker, as usual, has its own witty take on the piece.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Here's a link to long article on fellow trivia co-hostess/blogger Dawn in today's New York Observer.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

I actually went to work yesterday, too. I put "didn't" by accident. Oh well. Maybe I'll change it later. Dawn was nice enough to link to my balloon photo below, so I got 200+ new hits.

If you're a new reader who got here via Dawn, I'm a novelist. Here's info about my attemptedly-funny published books, etc. Hope you enjoy the blog.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work.

Caught

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work.

My condolences to Iggles fans.

My absolute deadline for revisions to the Carrie Pilby sequel is the first week in March, so between that and finishing revisions of the other novel, I'm going to have my hands full on the next few weekends. It's okay, though. What bothers me is people who act offended when I can't go to every weekend event. They have the false belief that I can write anytime. Not true. I can't write from, say, 5 a.m. to 7 on weekdays and then be tired at work all day. Even if they think it's a hobby I do for fun, there are deadlines on it and certain times I have to do it. I've been doing this long enough to know when I have to be doing it.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work.

One reason to finish re-revising this book and give it to my agent is that I'm getting really tired of reading it. Not that it's ever enjoyable to keep re-reading your own work. But it gets to a mindnumbing point. Three more weekends and it's out.

It's up to 103,000 words now, even though I feel like I've done more cutting than adding.

Superbowl in seven hours. Are you ready for some footbaaaaall?

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work. TGIF.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

One more day, and I can get back to working on the book. Revision-time has been good to it. Those clumsy sentences that I left half-sketchy a year ago because I didn't want to waste an hour finding exactly the right word or phrase - well, they now have the right word or phrase.

Will this sell? There is no telling. But I can honestly say that I'm glad I wrote it. And I think it's a story you'll enjoy.

More than ten years ago, when I first conceived of the idea, I never would have had the tools and experience to make it work, nor the confidence that if I put a few years into it, it would get on the right path to publication. I'm a little better now, and maybe even wiser. Maybe.

Of course, I'm too close to it to see how readers will like it. That's where agents, editors, and my mini-focus groups come in. It takes a village to write a novel.

OK, more newspaper articles to edit. Later, gators.

I guess I know a few people who would be into this.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

I was gonna work on the book a little last night, but fell asleep at 9:30. Oh well.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Just edited this sentence: "One of the first things the congressman did was to send a letter to President George W. Bush requesting a significant increase for the hiring of fist responders."

Will wake up tomorrow, get dressed, and go to work.

I'm still catching up on a backlog of stuff, so sorry for the lack of interesting journal entries. Maybe I will put up some photos tomorrow. I took a cool one of some ducks who were walking in the train station. I guess they forgot they're supposed to fly south in a "V."

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, and not go to work.

It's 1:55 a.m. and it smells like snow out.

This morning, that being Saturday morning, I got up at 9 a.m. to start revising my book, and went into a writing haze. Next thing you know it was like 3 p.m.

I got through revisions of the last section, and the book is now exactly 400 pages long, about 100,000 words.

Next step: more re-reading, print it out, read the 400-page printout (ay carumba) and then it will be off to the agent again, to wait for her verdict on whether it's ready to send to publishers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thank you, thank you, thank you to the lovely people I had dinner with last eve. It's sometimes hard in this post-ironic age to express sincere wishes without seeming insincere (especially true of a sarcastic person like me), but I sincerely am lucky to know all of you.

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, go to work.

Only one day left, and then I can work on my 3rd novel. I've wanted to work on revisions all week and couldn't. It's not that revising is fun, it's that putting off revising is annoying.

I briefly was able to stop into the new '90s themed club, Nerve-ana, tonight, because I was on the press list. It was pretty funny. They show the O.J. low-speed chase on a continuous loop. I had a drink called the Monica, which is said to "leave a good taste in your mouth."

I read the lyrics of the song. It would be bad enough if it was just in poor taste, but it's actually totally racist and cruel.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Every morning when I wake up, people on the radio are talking about the Tsunami Song. Just fire the DJs who played it already and get it over with, so we can stop hearing about this.

Isn't "Dinklage" an unfortunate last name to have if you are a person of small stature?

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

DJ 1: Andrew Ridgeley turns 42 today.
DJ 2: He's pretty young to be a has-been.

The last few days have been hectic, for days that aren't normally hectic. I also got the last of the suggestions from my agent on Book 3 and my editor's comments on the Pilby sequel, so I have about a month to revise both.

So I'll be hiding on weekends, as usual. I don' t want to still be doing this in warmer weather, and I really want to whip them into good shape. Plus, it's not something I can do 10 pages at a time -- I have to sit down and go through 100 or 150 pages at a time to keep everything consistent.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Got something to complain about (or praise)? Write about 150 words, give it a letter grade, and submit it to the Black Table's Black List. Or read other people's rants. Mine is in this list. Except, it's ratemyteacherS. Oops.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work. I realized it's easier to get up in the morning if your heat's on higher.

Click here to see my blizzard photos from the weekend.

This is my new favorite quote.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go anywhere.

By noon, you will find blizzard pix on my barometer blog. Click here.

Our newspaper chain helped give more 'exposure' to the Naked Cowboy this weekend. If you're from outside the NYC area, you'll have to click to understand.

That is some mighty fast snow. I hear shovels stabbing into banks and then scraping along the sidewalks.

I am happy because I am warm. Plus, (not to sound like my character, but...) I have the world's comfiest socks on.

I got a newsletter from my alma mater's Alumni Secondary School Committee today. They inform me that of the kids accepted last year for the class of 2008:

47 percent went to parochial or private schools. Seems like a way lot.
15 percent are kids of an alum (but only 38 percent of alums' kids who applied were admitted)
21 percent of those who applied were accepted. (Tougher than it used to be.)

Here is what it costs to attend for a year:

Tuition and fees $30,716
Housing $5,336
Meals $3,582

The moral of the story is, it's lucky that if I applied today, I wouldn't get in, because who could afford that?!

In other news...

I timidly asked my agent if she thinks we might be able to get book 3 out to some editors before the summer publishing doldrums hit. They're closer than you think! She thinks so. One more month of revisions and I send it back to her.

In response to the hate crimes argument of earlier, a friend writes that the intent of a hate crime is to intimidate more than just the victim:

the argument is that the effect on society from a random crime is not inconsiderable, but the effects of a targeted hate crime serve to create fear among a vulnerable population far greater than if crime were merely random. since the harm is worse, the deterrent + punishment should be worse.

OK, discussion is closed on that argument becuz I don't feel like posting about it anymore.

* * * * * * * *** * *** ** ** ** * * **** * * * * *

Woke up, put clothes on, went to work.

Even Amanda is excited about oncoming snow, and she's in the midwest!

Woke up. Put on clothes. Went to work.

Rinse and repeat.

Disclaimer of the Day

Sometimes I worry that if I meet a new business contact or friend, they might stumble upon this blog too soon.

They might read it all and think they know everything about me. And they'd certainly be wrong.

I feel that way about my writing, too.

It's certainly the risk of anyone who keeps a blog, or who writes. I keep certain personal stuff completely out of this blog.

I don't write about relationships (unless in a very general context) or that sort of thing, I don't tell everything that happened to me, and I try not to get too political, although sometimes I do go on rants, as you know.

You may say, "Well, that's boring! Blogs are SUPPOSED to be for political and dating rants." True, true, but a blog also should not ruin your life.

You don't want to let your words box you in.

You might look a few days back in my blog and see that I demolished a kiwifruit the other day, but miss the photo a few months ago of the dog I had growing up. I might complain about something in an entry day and seem like a complainer, but there might have been seven nice things that happened that day that I didn't bother to write about.

Also, you might think that I use words like "something," "some," "bad," and "nice" too many times for someone who has actually gotten paid money for writing, and I might tell you that I am going to say "something," "someone," "some," "bad" and "nice" on a blog because I don't feel the need to make this superpolished. Or something.

I like writing. I like putting cutesy thoughts or experiences here on occasion. I like communicating with friends this way rather than sending out an e-mail announcing something important (if I am lucky enough to call some of you friends). So thanks for reading the disclaimer.

Woke up, put on clothes, spent too much time commenting on the internet already. I always get this feeling that there's one more thing I have to do on the internet before I get to work, or get to bed.

One thing I am getting tired of is recent postings (several by rightist political bloggers) about how annoyed they are that women emulate "Sex And the City."

You idiots. "Women" don't emulate SATC. SNOBBY women emulate Sex and the City. In fact, SATC emulates them. It's about them. They existed well before the show did. If you don't like the idea that some women are snobby, then don't chase snobby women!

There are plenty of down-to-earth interesting single people of both sexes in "The City." They eat at cheap restaurants, can't afford a car right now, don't mind that their creative job started at $25K a year, don't "summer" at the Hamptons, and sometimes they even come to Tuesday Night Trivia instead of trying to get on the list of a no-name club.

And some of them still enjoy SATC - because darn it, it's funny!!

Thank you.

Woke up, got dressed, didn't go to work.

Tonight I watched a really close Jets/Steelers game in the city with friends, and what was nice was, even the people who aren't one bit into sports seemed to enjoy themselves. The game went into overtime. Various people stopped in to say hello, too, and I even ran into a friend of mine in knew from college. It's starting to be funny to me that in a city as large as New York, I bump into people I know. Although I guess the older I get, the more people I cross paths with anyway, so I'm bound to float into their orbit once or twice more.

I have to read and write a blurb for another novel, as well as read three books and write a review, but all of the said books are relatively easy reading.

I was going to write, "When's it gonna snow?" but apparently we will get a little tomorrow and Wednesday. I still think we could get a blizzard dumped on us in mid-Feb like we used to in the '80s. This has been a paltry winter for snow here so far.

I planned to do a lot of novel revising last night, but the four hours of revising got me through pages 190 to 225. I guess there are always ways to make it slightly better. I suppose some of the changes now are minor enough that they're not going to make a difference in whether someone buys the book or not -- but once someone does, I will get a certain period of time to finish revisions, and then I send it in.

A friend of mine has a good account of a trip South and the cultural differences down there.

Oh, someone was kind enough to get me the Atlantic Monthly article...thanks so much!!!

Woke up, got dressed, went to work.

As promised: Death of a Kiwi.

"The Sun reported that Prince William was also at the party - dressed as a lion."

Now, that's cute.

Does anyone have the November 2003 Atlantic Monthly? If so, please let me know. There's an article I need a fax of. And no, my local liberry doesn't have it. And I can only get half of it on the web. (It's not life or death, but I want to see it for research.)

Woke up, got dressed, went to work.

It's about time! The Greatest American Hero is coming to DVD. And the song was great BEFORE it was on Seinfeld, thank you.

MDS writes: i'm sorry for commenting on your blog so often lately but today really got my dander up about an issue i never understood. the idea that there are such things as "hate crimes" drives me positively batty. no crime is committed with love and it's not LESS of a crime if you murder/beat/abuse someone of the same race,
religion, sexual preference, etc. by the same token it shouldn't be
MORE of a crime if it involves parties of opposing views.

I'm amending my thoughts on that. The guy could have been mentally ill or something. Anyway, I wouldn't advocate violence against anyone. I was just asking.

Thanks to the people who said that my poem yesterday cheered them up. Even if it was meant to be dark, I'm glad I helped.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

1010 WINS said today that two teenagers (quote) "beat the hell out of" a guy because he was a Satan worshipper. They're being charged with a hate crime. My question: If someone worships Satan, aren't they in favor of evil? Oh, I know, it's more complicated than that...a certain person I know who studies the Bible (not Dawn) and Satan would probably tell me that it's more complex, that Satan advocates evil that helps him/herself. Still, evil is evil.

Oh well, no one got what the poem was really about. Yes, I know it really is Tuesday the 11th, but it was about something that happened 3.5 years ago...it's actually a very dark poem.

Tonight I co-hosted trivia with Valerie. She was a great co-host as always, and the room was packed, even on a night soaked in rain and slush. I can never predict who will turn out on trivia night. I think we had 60 people.

A few questions spurred Kennedy and Michael Jackson jokes. At one point, I told people I'd give them an extra minute to get their Kennedy jokes out of their system, and a certain NYC newspaper columnist/comedian who shall remain nameless reponded, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." The bad jokes abounded.

Thanks to all who showed up.

Thanks for those of you who have e-mailed to say they're glad I'm so happy...but you have missed the irony of this poem. It's ok, though.

I was hungry a little while ago so I made short work of a kiwi. A photo of the demolished fruit will be posted later.

Tuesday the 11th

It's Tuesday 11th,
a bright and sunny day
and I'm healthy and working
Things are going my way

The skies are so blue and
Nothing can happen to me
I work hard and I'm healthy
and I am only 33

On the way to the elevator
The buildings look pretty
and I'm glad to be employed
and in New York City

Everything feels good
as far as I can see
Because I'm happy and healthy
And I am only
33

Will wake up, put on clothes, go to work later this morning.

Have you had your annual doctor's checkup lately? It's easy when we have so much else to worry about to let things like that slip on by. So let this be a reminder. When was the last time you had your heart listened to and blood taken? Seriously. If you catch something early, you will be way better off. Women, don't forget to do your monthly br----t checkups too.

While we're on the subject, is your smoke detector working? Check the battery. Do you have a carbon monoxide detector? Cheap ones are under $30.

I can already predict the snide comments in my e-mail, but hey, it doesn't hurt to check, right?

A reader writes:

>>The tape was originally named DUCK TAPE because water rolled off of it just like the back of a duck. It later was called DUCT TAPE because it was used on heating and air conditioning ducts. You can properly call it DUCK or DUCT but when you ask most people today the will say DUCT TAPE.
I believe on Red Green they use the term DUCT TAPE and it is understood to be the greatest item ever invented since a man can fix anything with that tape no matter what you call it.

Part of the reason I have dedicated this time to revising is that I expected it to be really cold out. It hasn't. But it's supposed to get cold again at the end of the week (around Friday). We always get our worst snow and blizzards in mid-February around here anyway. People forget that, but it's true.

I will eventually wake up. But at least there's no time limit. Because it's Sunday!

So a friend of mine invited me to a party for www.blacktable.com, a pretty well-respected nonfiction on-line magazine. It's easy enough for internet publications to premiere and die quickly, but this one has enough quality journalism to attract a following. My friend, Joel, writes for them. Anyway, another writer for them is a successful essayist named Will, which leads me to today's Glimpse into the Writers' Life...

One of the reasons I get scared about taking too long to finish my novel is that I worry that someone will do something with the same plot. I read "Publisher's Lunch" every week to look at all the book deals. Publisher's Lunch tells you which books sold and they give a very short plot synopsis. Anyway, last year, a book sold by Will and it seemed (according to Publisher's Lunch) a bit similar in plot to mine (as do others from time to time). No two writers can ever write the same book, and it wasn't exactly the same, but I keep my eyes open for stuff like that.

Anyway, he was at the party so I told him that I got scared when I saw what his book was about, but that it's not soooo close to mine, so I'm not worried. I'm looking forward to his, too, because his essays on Black Table have been great. He kindly said, "Yours'll be better," but I doubt it. His novel will be out in December, and I look forward to it. And it will be totally, totally, totally, totally, totally, totally different from mine. He deserves success.

My book editor (of Carrie Pilby and Sq2) also happened to be there, along with pretty impressive writers like Rachel Kramer Bussel, who has a column in the Village Voice; novelist Ned Vizzini; and pop culture essayist Chuck Klosterman. (I'm not trying to name-drop, just giving credit to talented writers.) Oh, a fiction writer who's also published books with my editor, Michael Weinreb, was there too. There's a Klosterman essay I really liked that I read recently, so I will have to link to it sooner or later.

OK, I'm going to sleep now. That's more socializing than I normally do, so I need two weeks in my apartment to catch up. Whew.

Oh, another lesson learned tonight from football: For every botched field goal that screws up the beginning of your game, someone else's botched field goal may be there at the end to save you.

I saw this written somewhere today: "Slugs are homeless snails."

I was in the hardware store and saw several brands of something labeled "DUCK TAPE." I was worried; I always thought it was "duct tape." I though of all the newspaper articles we wrote during the orange alert last year where I, as editor, let the phrase "duct tape" slip through. I was surprised, though, as "duct tape" made more sense than "duck tape." Who tapes a duck?

Then I saw that there were brands of "duct tape," too. "Duck Tape" is apparently a name brand, but I guess the company that makes it puts out different versions. Whew.

Here is a DVD I want. It's cheap, too! I'm sure them after-school specials are so dated, it'd be a hoot to watch any of 'em.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work.

WHAT!?!?! Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston have formally separated.

Sometimes we blame ourselves for not being in relationships, wondering if we're not good enough, smart enough, good-looking enough...but then we can look at famous Hollywood couples who have everything going for them (looks, money...), and still can't make their relationship work. Now, you can say that they have all different kinds of pressures, but everyone has pressures.

Pitt is 41 and Aniston is 35. They were just talking about having kids not long ago. At least one member of that pair is gonna have to hurry up, biologically speaking!!

In other news, it's raining and the roads are slick, and yet...cars keep passing. Who's driving on a Saturday at 8:30? Preposterous. Oh, look, it's 9:17 now. I'm putting together my audio round for trivia. Anything to avoid writing, ha ha.

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, go to work.

I'm done revising for tonight. Good night sweethearts. Good night, sweet prince. Good night, John Boy. Good night, Mrs. Calabash, where ever you are.

That just made me think of something. Of the trivia we know, how much of it is because some teacher, when we were growing up, went off on a tangent about something? That's how I first heard of the "Mrs. Calabash" bit. Thank God for educators with personality. Well, parents, too.

How do you like your pug?

People keep finding this blog by putting in the names Zadie Smith and Nick Laird, and phrases like "Zadie Smith Nick Laird married," "Zadie Smith married Nick Laird," etc. You literary gossip mongers! Usually they find my Dec. 14 post pointing out that the pair are married and that he's a writer, but yet, when his book sold, he was described in Publisher's Lunch only as "Zadie Smith's boyfriend." Anyway, if you are reading this, besides reading those two, you should really read a funny book called Carrie Pilby about a 19-year-old genius who's a bit misanthropic. What do you know, click this and read all about it. Do it!!

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Looks like we have a little publishing problem here.

I've always wondered what the term "killer app" actually meant, so I looked it up on Wikipedia. So very useful. Here's the result.

My editor writes:

Thanks for sending. Will try to get to it as soon as humanly possible.
I hope you had a good holiday.
Now relax and stop revising this…

In case she reads my blog - don't worry. Now I'm revising my OTHER book!!

Also newly appearing at trivia last night: Derek.

Extraneous words I edit
by Caren the editor

She gives of her time.....becomes....she gives her time.
It happened at 12 noon....becomes....it happened at noon.
He won some six million dollars....becomes....he won six million dollars.
The store is located at 11 Central Ave.....becomes....the store is at 11 Central Ave.

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, and go to work.

As you can see by these in-advance entries, I'm staying up late. I've been revising my book late at night. The reason is that this past weekend, instead of really working on it, I kept getting the urge to sleep a lot. I'm trying to make up for that.

There is very little that is artful or exciting about revising. I have read the words so many times that they've lost feeling. I can still detect proper rhythm and flow. But is the story still interesting? Does it draw emotion from me? Not after 200 times reading it. I don't understand how authors end up with 700 or 1,000-page novels after a revision process. Lots of sections start seeming extraneous. Of course, after a certain point, you have to stop yourself from editing everything down to the barest germ.

Like this blog entry for example. It's about entry number 35 on revising. Do you really care?

On another note, I went to Tuesday night team trivia tonight after having been away for about a month. Val and Barry were the co-hosts. Next week, I will be hosting with Val. Oh, it was great to see the return of Todd.

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, and go to work.

Did more editing of novel tonight. Some of the things in it are such a delicate balance that if I add too much description or emotion in one area or another, I have to later chisel it back down or make sure it's in the appropriate proportion. It will work out, in the end. I want it to, y'know, be meaningful even as it's fun to read.

I saw Sideways on Sunday. It was okay, but I didn't love it like certain people.

Woke up, put on clothes, back to work.

Phil notes: "So I also watched the New Years scene from 'Boogie Nights' today (I own it on DVD) and I must point out that Julianne Moore didn't exactlysay '19-fucking-80' - she said 'Fucking 1980.' "

I stand corrected.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

"Nineteen-fu*kin-eighty!" - Julianne Moore, "Boogie Nights" (I watched the new year's party scene yesterday because it's a great scene and it was in my head.)

Several bloggers whom I'm friends with have looked over the past year or written their resolutions in their blogs. My resolutions are pretty mundane (not gain 10 pounds on black-and-white cookies again, etc.) and will stay in my journal. But I will say I'm grateful for all the friends I've made or become better friends with in the past year (like S. and V.) and all of you folks who actually read my blog. So thanks!

On New Year's Eve 1992, I had just graduated from college in Phila a semester early and had no clue what to do. I was an English major and had fulfilled all the requirements and was pretty darn tired of school, and I wanted to save a little money and get a head start on life, so I graduated. But then suddenly I had no direction. It was a recession and I had no job, and I didn't know whether to stay in Phila and look or try to plunk down my meager savings for a pricey apt in NY.

Even though I had technically graduated, I stayed in my dorm for lack of anything else to do. (I always found someone to sign me in as a guest, or sometimes I'd just look at the security person, and when my card wouldn't work, they'd say, "Huh? I know you live here" and let me in).

On New Year's Eve, I was wandering around campus alone, as everyone else home for winter break. I decided to go see "Home Alone 2" by myself. Walking west to the theater, I passed a homelesss woman on the Walk who was always selling paintings to support herself. I had vowed before that if I ever had actual extra money, I'd give her some. Now I had a little extra, so I gave her two bucks. She gave me a photocopy of a painting of a dove.

I saw "Home Alone 2," and a dove was a central theme. I considered it a sign that I should be grateful for what I had. I came back to my dormroom, taped up the dove as a reminder, took the elevator up to the rooftop lounge and watched some fireworks. The only other people up there were a couple. After that, I went to my room and wrote in my journal for a while. I didn't know where I would go next, but I knew I was lucky anyway.

The prospect of giving myself a little more time on campus, to actually enjoy it without taking classes, was tempting. In the end, that's what I did. A friend of mine knew of a temp job, and that temp job turned into a part-time job for the next four months. I got more involved in school activities because I could do them without coursework. And I spent a lot of time in the computer room writing resumes and cover letters.

Even though it was a very confusing period in my life, I tried to remind myself how lucky I was. And yesterday, I talked to my father, and he said we're all lucky we live in this part of the country where we don't have tsunamis. He tries to remember how lucky he is, too. So enterting the new year, I am grateful for all I have. I hope everyone has a fortunate new year.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work. No work, yippee.

I had a dream last night that I was at the beach. At 3 p.m. the waves started getting really big. I left, and so did everyone else. By the time I got up to my car, there was already water all over the parking lot. I got out of there. The dream gets even more weird, but I'm glad I'm now dreaming about tsunamis and not the WTC. I think it's healthy.

Hooray!

I e-mailed the Pilby novella to my editor. It weighs in at 30,300 words, 127 pages. It will be out as part of a collection next November. I already got an e-mail response from my editor:

Thanks for your email. I'll be out of the office until Tuesday, January 4.

She's such a sport!

Now back to my third novel for a while (the non-chick lit one).

Happy new year to all!

I've been meaning to mention the tsunami - who can even comprehend such losses? More than 50,000 people...that's like 17 Sept. 11ths.

Will soon wake up, put on clothes, go to work.

It's 3 a.m. and I finished inputting my edits. I inputted carefully so I wouldn't make new mistakes, but there's probably something. Anyway, Carrie Pilby's newest New Year's adventures are now ready for my editor. And in eleven months, they will be ready for all o' you.

I'm revising the Carrie Pilby novella right now. Not the other novel. That was LAST night. Tomorrow I can ship the novellA to my editrix. Yay!

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

I found a buffalo nickel last week, which was very exciting. It was so rubbed down that I couldn't see the date. But I think I gave it away in change by accident because it's not in the section of my purse where I was saving it. Stupid me. It's not worth anything anyway, but.

I've been working on the book. Are my edits making it better, or worse? How to tell? I really don't know. I want the words on paper to mirror the vision in my head, although that's a tough order.

Will later wake up, put on clothes, and go to work.

I'm not getting up at 4 a.m. this week. Last week, I did that two days in a row, and I got sick as a result. Tonight, I get a good night's sleep.

I inputted a lot of book revisions today. The only nice part about this step is that I still haven't gotten rejected. I've worked so long on this one that it will be a little scary when it finally goes out. Note to self: Don't send it until it's good & ready.

Oh, to the person who's reading it right now...please keep reading! I still need your comments, definitely. The more I hear, the more I know what's good and what need a-changin'.

Hope everyone had a merry Christmas.

Two things I'm very annoyed with:

1. "What's your name?"
"Ima."
"Ima...what?"
"Ima...gonna kick your ass!"

2. You people with your Festivus. Seinfeld has been off the air for like five years already. It's not funny. It never was that funny. Here is my response to all of you.


In other news...my agent gave me a lot of comments on the novel, and now I'm doing a lot of revisions. It's getting longer. You'll still buy it, right? Won't you?

Oh well, back to the full-time job tomorrow.

I finally caught the mailman today. Every year, when it comes time to give my mailman his Xmas card, I don't want to just leave it in my box because of all the substitute mailmen who show up and might snatch it. I want my card and cash to go to my regular mailman who delivers all those nice cards and publishing-related materials and junk. So that means I sorta have to be around when the mail is being delivered. Which I can't do if I'm working. The last few Saturdays, I kept a watch out, but it was a different mailman. Today I was around and I caught him, by gum!

Then there's eggnog. The supermarket closest to me is out of all forms of eggnog and they say they won't get any new nog until after the holidays. So if you're planning to consume nog this weekend, get it fast. I got some elsewhere, though.

So as you can see, it's been a busy day. I hope every one of you is in a warm place. And I wish you...

Happy holidays!!

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

There are hot 'n' heavy rumors that the daily paper we compete with may close, but who knows. We need more news coverage throughout the country, not less.

ME: I heard that 'Lost' IS a repeat tonight.
BROTHER: Nuuuh (intelligible)
ME: You can still look for clues.
BROTHER: Great.
ME: I heard that there's a theory that the island is purgatory, and that all the people on the plane died.
BROTHER: I heard that already.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

Someone told me my joke about Kirstie Alley was mean, and that fame can be lonely. Actually, I was originally going to write that she still looks really pretty. But then I thought of the joke and went with that. But I doubt she reads this. Anyway, she clearly has a sense of humor about herself since her new show is called "Fat Actress."

Mickey writes:

[The head of his p*nis found the place it wanted. For a moment he wanted
there, poised, and kissed her - ...so that she felt his scrot*m slap against her skin.]
[I didn't feel like waiting for the gas man to come with his little tool.]

Are these two comments related?

Anyway, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas. I have my quart of soy nog ready for drinking.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

"There's another two-hour 'Lost' on tomorrow night. I hope it's not another stupid repeat for you stupid people who didn't watch it when it first came on. Just suffer." -- My brother

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

On 1010 WINS this morning, they referred to "The Kremlin." I haven't heard that one in ages.

If Kirstey Alley gets any fatter, she's going to change her name to Kirstey Highway. (Bob, you can use that in your act.)

I was thinking today about things that used to be censored or shocked people when I was little. For instance, I remember Joan Rivers got yelled at because she was hosting (I think) the Emmys and she said someone's character "Has had more hands up her dress than any of the Muppets." Also, at the Tonys, there was some guy who referred to "My producer who is also my lover" and people were horrifically embarrassed.

Literary thoughts...

Amanda e-mailed me a link to this article about how Tom Wolfe won a British "bad sex" prize for his descriptions of sex in his new novel, I Am Charlotte Simmons. It confirms my belief that sometimes, even the most celebrated writers can learn from oft-maligned genre fiction. People turn up their noses at romance novels, but think how hard it is to write a convincing romance that makes a reader actually feel romantic while you watch the characters get together. Harlequin novelists do it often, and it's a talent not everyone has. B.R. Myers, in my favorite lit crit book (a pleasure to read), A Reader's Manifesto, lambastes David Guterson (Snow Falling on Cedars) for this passage:

The head of his p*nis found the place it wanted. For a moment he wanted there, poised, and kissed her - he took her lower lip between his lips and gently held it there. Then with his hands he pulled her to him and at the same time entered her so that she felt his scrot*m slap against her skin.

(Asterisks included so people don't find this page looking for p*rn.)

To be fair, Sarah told me she thinks Tom Wolfe's descriptions are intentional to mirror the attitude toward sex on college campuses, as explored in the book. It wouldn't be the first time that writers are trying to skewer more successful writers with extra snark.

Oh, by the way, some of you may have time to read during the holidays. I have to again recommend a great great great cold-weather book that reads really fast and is heartfelt and intriguing. Read it by the fire! Read it on a plane!

It's At Home in the World, writer Joyce Maynard's memoir of (mostly) her relationship with J.D. Salinger. She was a precocious young girl who didn't fit in, who lived in a superachieving creative family, and after she got published in the Times in 1972, she was lured out of her sophomore year at Yale to go live in near seclusion with Salinger. If you read it, let me know what you think. Here's a link to get to it.

Woke up, put clothes on, didn't go to work.

I cleaned my apt. today allll day and now I'm aching. I actually spent nine straight hours cleaning.

Let's have a look at our weather map.

Luckily I took a metal fondue fork and poked the little pipe next to the pilot light in my heater to get the white ash away from it so it would light. I didn't feel like waiting for the gas man to come with his little tool.

Here's another cool scoop.

On Saturday, the Sound of Music airs on ABC. If you click that link, you get to one of the funnier reviews ever written. Fans of the film are very affectionate toward it.

I've tried to convince people of the subtle and clever humor that was injected into the movie. People who exhibit a certain film snobbery fail to give it a chance because of their 20-year-old memories of watching it as a kid and seeing singing nuns. Look at the quotes from it on imdb (especially 2 through 5) and you will see that screenwriting legend Ernest Lehmann did an amazing job converting an average stage show into a much better movie.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

If you can intentially embarrass yourself at the office Xmas party, it makes other people feel less bad when they do it unintentionally.

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

According to the Web, Nick was actually her fiancee when the deal was done - and one report says they were married in September. Someone's been a bit slow in getting news to the SnarkWire.

I get Publisher's Lunch, which tells you of deals that happen in the industry. Check out how debut author Nick Laird is described:

"Zadie Smith's boyfriend Nick Laird's debut novel UTTERLY MONKEY, set in London and Northern Ireland, about two reunited friends who discover that one of them has accidentally stolen money from a terrorist organization, to John Williams at Harper, by Natasha Fairweather at AP Watt."

I just think it's funny that out of all the stuff Nick Laird has done (he's a writer himself), he gets referred to that way. If you don't know who Zadie Smith is, she was the subject of literary snark in London when her first novel, WHITE TEETH, was published in her twenties. Get a hit novel published that young and the knives will sharpen. I'm sure this announcement will spur even more snark. But hey...maybe the guy is actually a good writer. Let's see.

UPDATE: See below.

What's that sound outside? It's the sound of silence! Because no one is going to the bars. It's too cold. Thank god - some peace.

Tonight was the office X-mas party. I may or may not have performed an Eminem song for the second year in a row. There may or may not be a picture later to confirm this. Why? Because there's a Slim Shady in all of us.

IT'S FRIKKIN COLD OUT. I'm staying inside for a month. Don't miss me.

Guess what I'll be doing. No, not just writing. Cleaning my apt. that went to pot because of all the time I spent writing.

I might even get to cook!

Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

We're bad, we're nationwide.

Paco the Python is getting around!

The Associated Press story on Paco the python is up.

If you were working at a DVD repair facility and opened a box with a DVD that had been returned, and saw a four-foot python curled around it, what would you think? Here's the first pickup of our story. More coming tomorrow on Paco, the python who got a free trip to Secaucus.

Thanks to everyone who e-mailed me about my piece on radio days.

Pop culture musings aside...I will soon wake up, put on clothes, and go to work.

In other news, this weekend, the chain of newspapers for which I am an editor ran a pretty interesting feature about a displaced four-foot python. The story is wacky enough that I expect it to uncoil in other media outlets. More as the story develops.

New content for a new workweek....

Tale of the tapes

I first became conscious of the music that was playing on the radio when I was in second grade and wanted to hear songs from “Grease.” Back then, the stations to listen to in the New York area were WNBC-AM and WABC-AM. Those were the ones with the top 40, the Disco, the Donna Summer. I would be sitting in the bucket seats of the Chevrolet and ask my father to put either of those stations on. I couldn’t identify the singers, but I knew which songs I liked – “Freak Out” by Chic and “Hot Child in the City” by whoever that was. One time, my family was heading to the shore and “Born to Run” came on. My father told me that the Highway 9 mentioned in the song was the same Route 9 that we were on. A month later, I heard a song on the radio with a similar scratchy vocalist and thought, “Maybe that’s Bruce Springsteen.” When the disc jockey said it was, I was so proud of myself. I normally couldn’t identify singers by their voices, like older kids and adults always could, and this was the first time I had.

In fourth grade, I came to notice that a lot of the songs on the radio that I liked, like “My Life” and “Big Shot,” were by the same guy – Billy Joel. I started taking piano lessons that year, like many of the kids in my community did, and my teacher gave me a book of patriotic songs and a book of exercises called “A Dozen a Day.” For my recital, I played the “Star Spangled Banner.” But when I switched piano teachers, the new guy made it more interesting. He gave me a Billy Joel easy piano book, and I was very very happy.

In sixth grade, I spent a lot of time in school folding over notebook paper to create a magazine called “Liskid,” which my father photocopied for me at his part-time job when he went there once a week. (He didn’t have copier access at his main job, and there actually weren’t many places back then to copy things besides an office.) One of the highlights of the magazine were the charts of the top 10 TV shows and songs of the week. I didn’t make them up, though; I cut them out of the Asbury Park Press, but it was still a valuable resource from my two to six consistent subscribers (the number vacillated depending on how many friends I had who weren’t mad at me). I’d add in my opinions by putting an “X” for “Good song,” a circle for “OK song” and a dash for “Bad song.” My magazine tended to gravitate around the lunchroom, and one time, a semi-popular girl named Deena came up to me in her overalls and Clash T-shirt. “I like how you X’ed ‘Rock the Casbah,’ she said approvingly.

Seventh grade was the big year – 1984. Madonna, Michael Jackson and Prince flew to the top of the charts. Van Halen named their album after the year. Everyone thinks junior high was the best time for music no matter how old they are, but my junior high experience happened to coincide with the acts who defined the sound of the decade. I always had had a tape recorder of my own, which my brother and I would use to make funny tapes and pretend to interview celebrities, but I also made tapes of my favorite songs, as most kids did. I would listen to Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 each Sunday morning in the den – now the radio stations of choice were on FM, like the very new Z-100 and its competitor, WPLJ. I would hold my tape recorder up to the speakers when a song I liked came on. My mother would say something to my father while I was taping and I’d hiss, “Shhhh!” Worse yet, the dog would bark. But I managed to get clean recordings of “Our House” by Madness and “Come On, Eileen.” I was still at the stage when I thought it added something to be a pretend DJ between songs. “That was General Hospi-tale,” I would declare, “a great song about a great show.” Eventually I learned to keep my voice out of it.

By high school, I was tired of hearing the number one song over and over on Z-100 or PLJ, and that was when I discovered another new station – 92.3 K-Rock, which boasted “no repeat Tuesdays” and came up with the phrase “classic rock.” The year before, “We Are the World” had come out, and there were supposedly-legendary voices in it whom I’d never heard of, like Bob Dylan (“Who’s Bob Die-lan?” I had thought when I’d read the articles). Now, on K-Rock, songs by Dylan played regularly. There were pieces from the Who’s “Tommy,” a movie my brother and I had seen because he was into video games and pinball, as well as older songs by that guy who had sung the recent hit “Let’s Dance,” David Bowie. There was a whole world of music I hadn’t known.

By then, I had acquired, for my birthday, my own stereo with a vaunted “dual cassette deck,” so I could actually put the tape into a tape player and it would record directly from the radio. No more interference or holding a machine up to the speakers. There was so much classic rock that was new to me that I filled up tapes quickly.

When I got to college, there were a great many songs I had liked but had never gotten the chance to tape. Invariably, someone on the floor had the song I wanted, so I would tape it. I’d always liked Sting’s now-very-dated song “The Russians” (“Mr. Reagan says he will protect you, I don’t subscribe to this point of view…I hope the Russians love their children too.”) My R.A., Ammar, had “Dream of the Blue Turtles” on cassette, so I got to add “The Russians” to my tape. Any song I wanted was somewhere on my floor.

After I graduated in the early nineties, most of the music was dance, rap or grunge. It seemed like re-treads, but there would occasionally be a song that amused me – maybe an Ace of Base goodie or U2’s “One” or Mr. Big’s “To Be with You.” But it would be rare for me to run to the stereo and hurriedly press record like I used to. My tapes filled up much less quickly.

I thought about all this the other day – and not because we’ve eased into a time when kids can download almost any song you want. I thought of this because the tape now in my stereo is labeled in silver marker, “1999-2000.” And only one side is filled up. Only forty-five minutes of songs in the past five years have thrilled me enough to tape. Of course, I do buy CD’s occasionally, and someday I’ll even get around to learning how to download stuff. But there is so little that is new to me.

I still have a wooden tape holder filled with almost forty tapes I made back in the day. I know that nowadays, kids don’t have to wait around with a tape recorder to nab the song they want. It’s no longer much of a struggle to find out who sings what. And I continue searching for new bands and genres I haven’t really considered in order to strike the chord of excitement I used to have when I was a pre-teen. Even if it takes a long time, though, I will always love listening to those old tapes, the ones created with dog barks and bad DJ interruptions and squawks, because they remind me of the pre-internet era when music was less accessible but still oh so wonderful.

Woke up, put on clothes, didn't go to work.

I didn't have time to do any writing Friday or yesterday, so I caught up today. It's another cloudy drowsy day here. Sometimes I refer to them as "clousy."