Let Them Eat Ice Cream
14 July 2001
In a bit, I'm going to make myself lunch, and we're all going to go fetch David and get Ghirardelli sundaes. To celebrate my book. It's a small crowd, but everybody else I like around here is out of town or busy, and this way Timprov, Mark, or David may get a chance to talk. (Then again, Mark talked when Susan was around on Monday, so maybe the times, they are a-changin'.)
I was poking around last night and dug up the notes for The Tides Between the Worlds. I did not realize how ready I am to write this book. Man. I could just sit down and do it. The notes are not in order, but they're pretty complete. I put them all in roughly the same place as I came up with them, which was a good idea, although not universally applicable. So I'm going to sit down and make myself an outline/calendar for it, and then I'm going to try to do the same for the Not The Moose Book. The notes on the Not The Moose Book are not nearly so complete nor so compact, and I don't know the characters as well, but I can outline it no problem. I may outline two or three other books just to see how they look. I like outlines. Even if I change and/or ignore them. They're purty.
I also had Michelle read Mama's Pajamas when she was out here. She liked it enough to think I could try to do something with it. Timprov has since read it and agreed with her. I sent it to other people and am printing it out for Mark even as I type. But all I really needed was a thumbs up, and Michelle gave me that, so now I'm looking for picture book markets as well. Flexibility is my middle name. Or maybe marketing. I'd prefer Bestseller to be my middle name, but I'm told (by the Rolling Stones and my mother, so it must be true) that you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes. Etc. You know how the song goes.
Have I mentioned that it's a bit chilly here? A bit. My fingers are cold. My nose is very cold. Why is it cold? It's July. July is not a cold month. I was born in July so that I could bask on my birthday.
There will be basking. Or else.
And speaking of which, it's Michael's birthday! Also Bastille Day, but that's a good deal less important to me at the moment. Last year, Michael's loved ones did not do a particularly good job of helping him celebrate, and he had birthday doldrums. Birthday doldrums are not acceptable. If you have to get an entirely new set of friends and loved ones, that's okay. She probably wasn't your real half-sister anyway. It was all a cruel hoax. Etc.
Ice cream! Books to write, books to send out! Books to outline! Prospective basking! It's going to be a good day. Especially if I can get my brain to stop alternating between the Wallflowers' "Three Marlenas" song and one particularly insidious Simpsons tune. Which -- because I love you, my dear journal readers -- I will not inflict upon you. And especially if we can get the small children outside our windows to stop crying. That's quite distressing. It really is.
And the main page.
Or the last entry.
Or the next one.
Or even send me email.