Counting All My Blessings

So many reasons to be thankful...

March coming to a close.

Great friends who provided incredibly useful feedback on the Slide screenplay.

The possibilities of a new house.

The extended network of friends all over the country who are always so supportive.

The five kitties and the puppy.

The family members who offer their expertise and tremendous wit in equal measure.

The chance to get to know Dad again.

The way Jeannine, William and I work so well with one another, whether we're on vacation or buying a house together.

Time Tells Everything, Given Time

Not writing much here, but writing elsewhere...

Spent a few days in Dover, Delaware, marking the first anniversary of my mother's death by playing the slot machines at Dover Downs and hanging out with J and W. A strange tribute, some might say, but Mom would have loved that place. And Rehobeth Beach was gorgeous even in March.

Spent the past week or so editing the screenplay for Slide -- first to get it ready for a reading with our great group of friends, and following the feedback from the reading, to prepare the script for the Nichols Fellowship application due by May 3rd. We fully expect not to receive the fellowship, but the act of faith committed in trying for it is a good, good thing.

Holding off on sending to a new agent just now... the time doesn't feel quite right yet. Soon, I hope. By the by, should any of you have contacts in the literary/publishing field, we have no qualms about begging for your assistance. Just let us know you're willing to be groveled to.

And finally, we're house-hunting again. Fascinating stuff. May have found a place we like, though not certain yet. That too will come in time, no doubt.

Why I Love to Read Crap Books

Just finished one last night in fact. Oddly enough, just after I bought the crap book (used), I was flipping through channels and discovered it had been made into a Lifetime movie. You know, Lifetime... Television for Victims.

So why did I enjoy reading the crap book that (no doubt) got made into a crap movie?

'Cuz it gives me hope. The Long Black Veil is not the great American novel, but it ain't crap either.

Wahoo!

Make That a 2-fer

Got the first contact rejection of the year today; a brief but very nice response from the agent who doesn't feel the manuscript (The Long Black Veil) is right for her list.

I hope that's not code for "your writing sucks big time", but if it is, at least she put it nicely.

And at least she responded.

Guess it's time to go for the hat trick...

Maybe Monday.

We're Thinking of Getting Him A Car

Our Maine Coon cat, Jake, turns 16 today. I was in college and broke when I drove to Copenhagen, NY, to get him as a gift for Jeannine on her 25th birthday. We like to say he's a gift that keeps on giving.

We drove him cross-country (with 2 other cats -- Dauntless and Harry) to Oklahoma City when we moved there from Watertown, NY; and we drove him back eight years later with three other cats (Yuri, Fox and the Monkey) when we moved from OKC to Rochester, NY. He's been a faithful friend, always quick to come see what's wrong if any of us is upset, or happy to bitch at us when we're not doing what he wants.

He has a thousand nicknames, or somewhere in that neighborhood: Jacob, Yakov, Grape Ape, Poopoo-Lala (his Indian name), Rodan, Yar, Lion King, the Dragon, the Pooh, Mr. Poopoo, and on and on. And songs. You don't want to hear the songs, trust me. Well, maybe one...

I love the Poopoo-Lala

I love the Poopoo true

I love that Poopoo-Lala

Oh, Poopoo I love you!

Happy birthday, Poopoo-Lala!

Circling

Since deciding to chuck the traditional workforce for writing full-time, I think I've developed ADD or ADHD or whatever the hell one fits. My symptoms include an inability to keep my posterior in the chair for more than a few minutes (unless I'm playing an online game or Spider Solitaire) when I'm actually trying to, oh, you know, WRITE.

I never used to be like this: I used to be able to concentrate for hours on whatever I happened to be working on. And I used to be largely indistractable: for example, I used to do homework in front of the T.V., sometimes with music playing simultaneously, and usually with my parents fighting in the background. And in spite of missing a minimum of 36 days of school each year, I still made good grades -- 37th in a class of 250 in high school, magna cum laude in college in a 3-year accelerated program. Imagine what I might have done if I had actually applied myself!

I don't say any of this to boast; I say it with a deep mourning for what used to be. Nowadays, I have to write a few words,then get up and sweep the floor; write a few more words, then go get a drink; write a little more... you get the picture.

Oddly enough, though, I'm still making progress. At least there's that.

Ambition Can Creep As Well As Soar

In some magazine or another that I was reading on the plane as I came back from North Carolina, Amy Tan said that she was a "late bloomer" because she didn't publish The Joy Luck Club until she was 37.

Wow. That only gives me 7 months to meet Amy's deadline.

Fortunately, I'm not as enamored of (or cowed by) a devotion to youth culture and its illusionary definition of success. I haven't forgotten that Richard Adams didn't publish Watership Down until he was in his fifties; Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't publish The Little House series until she was in her sixties. Likewise, Raymond Chandler didn't publish his first short story until he was 45, and his first published novel, The Big Sleep, didn't appear until he was 51.

Of course, Richard, Laura, and Ray all had their breakthroughs more than 35 years ago when America at large clung a little less to the definition of youth being an essential component of success.

I'd better get cracking.

In Like A Lion...

Back after a busy week-and-a-half with much accomplished, including the Jean-Marie Memorial Garage Sale. It was huge and messy and pretty successful, and now there's a lot more room in this old house.

Lots of ideas percolating too, including the continuation of The Pirate's Bride and an idea for a memoir (thank you, Jennifer, for the original suggestion). Tentative title: The Fred & Jean Show. Mom and Dad continue to loom large within the blurry lines of fiction and nonfiction.

Let's see what happens next.