Monday, July 20, 2009

The Writing Day That Isn't

It was a crazy long weekend revolving around Zoe's birthday.Thursday was birthday proper which entailed swimming, Fratelli's for pizza and dancing in the square. Friday we threw a party--12 adults, 8 kids, many bratwurst--turkey, veg, and regular. Cleo the dog was the party fouler by harassing the babies and the crotches at the door and eating a hot dog off one of the kid's plates. Then, we had to recover all day Saturday which involved watching many already-seen movies. Yesterday, farmer's market and a special night called Erik went upstairs to watch TV so Z and I could watch Mamma Mia. The movie was as bad as the musical on broadway but it was pretty fun to watch with Z who had a million questions about veils, weddings, bachelor parties, mom's who paint toenails (dad's the toenail painter around here), and smart questions about, why are they singing now, isn't the wedding starting? And, why didn't Sophie just tell her mom the truth? And, why does his (Pierce Brosnan's) face look so silly? Indeed. When Pierce broke into song, it was hard to cling to his suaver Remington Steele days.
Yesterday, I got some work on this new proposal done (because I wanted to write this proposal 6 times) but the ambition has been shanghaid by needing to withdraw an essay and poems from other mags, which I hate doing, and by getting rejected by two potential blurbists in one day. Two. In one day. No one told me getting blurbs would be so heartbreaking. I thank jacket copy gods everywhere for the two I do have.
So now, I should eat lunch. And then Z comes home.
Perhaps this afternoon there will be some long as I'm not derailed by more Monday rejection.

ETA: I also felt compelled to make wheat berry tabbouleh since wheat berries are falling out of my cupboards. Pretty good. Too much lemon juice. I conquered too much lemon with feta.
Also, I washed some sheets and made a bed. And I still have some time left today, right?


Steve Fellner said...

After this post, I don't think we have anything left to say to you in person.

Nik said...

You're so mean. I knew you'd hate this post. I posted it just for that reason.

Nik said...

Also. I have plenty to say to you in person. Plenty.
And thanks for commenting. I hate the 0 comment look.

Dr. Write said...

Yes, no one tells you about the blurb rejection. Ask on. Eventually, someone says yes. Trust me.

Steve Fellner said...


I know Dr. Write's wonderful writing insulated her from the blatant criticisms of my work that some gay authors offered in extended letters.

Send as many as you can and don't wait for responses. They're not going to be thinking about time for you.

Dr. Write said...

That's mean! Why would they offer extended criticism? Maybe because they're insecure?
Granted, the people who said no to me, just said no, they hadn't seen my ms. Maybe it's better that way...

Lisa B. said...

0 comments is the worst, but here you go, you have 5 (6 after this!). So, I think I missed the fact that you have a book coming out, because without a book you wouldn't need blurbs. I had to ponder that for a minute or 1000. Ugh, though blurb rejection sounds horrrrrrrrrrrible. It would be the kind of thing that would send me under the bed for, like, a month or a year.

I loved "I conquered too much lemon with feta." Because it *is* a battle. *Everything* is a battle. Too many people remain unaware of this fact.

One last note: In Mamma Mia, which I had a perfectly good time at even though it was pretty awful, I admired the textiles very much. Shirts and bedspreads in particular. That got me through some bad moments. Also, you need to see Pierce Brosnan in The Matador and The Tailor of Panama and there's another one I can't remember. I liked him for bellowing out those songs so painfully. Because he is a good actor--I thought the bad singing was sort of being a good sport. I laughed and laughed.

Nik said...

Yes, I can't imagine extended criticism. That would be even worse.
Maybe I can just have you guys blurb--I think these comments would be fantastic on the back of a book. So meta.