Doing My Part

I just donated a tiny sum to the Red Cross for Katrina relief efforts. My cousin goes to Loyola New Orleans, and was evacuated to Texas. Who knows when he'll have school again? At least he's okay. I hope everyone you know and love in that area is okay. Read Kate Rothwell's post titled 'and since I'm being vaguely political' for some agita.

Megan

Einstein's Mom

Now, I'm not saying my six year-old son is a genius, but he is advanced in idea comprehension, verbal skills, and knowledge, although emotionally? Still his age. But I can definitely sympathize with Mrs. Einstein--sure, your kid's smart, but can he:

-- put on his own clothing?
--remember when he has to go to the bathroom?
--tell you when he's hungry?
--not get distracted by other people's random conversations (and then loudly correcting them about the proper identification of mammals) at the American Museum of Natural History when spending five and a half hours there?
--answer after maybe two, three repetitions of his name rather than the usual double digits it takes to gain his attention?
--not argue with you when really, your only answer is 'because I said so'?

That said, there's no-one I'd rather spend five and a half hours (it bears repeating--doesn't it?) viewing stuffed animal cadavers with.

Megan

Yippee!

Yesterday I was all 'I'm so freaking tired and my house is messy and I'm hot, and not in a good way,' and today everything's changed (except the humidity. Urgle).

Romantic Times reviewed A Singular Lady, saying "This book will touch readers who enjoy a sentimental love story with a nice touch of sensuality. The powerful, sexy hero knows exactly what he wants, and the spunky heroine is proud of being quite the bluestocking. This book is topped off with a dry wit that consistently finds its target." It got four stars (out of five). I like the dry wit part; I worked really hard on that.

And tonight I made an excellent spinach calzone. And the son was perfect all day. And I wore my latest Hello Kitty purchase, a Hello Kitty head strung on some pink metal beads. And come hell or high water, I will finish the first draft of my mommy-lit this week.

In short, life is good.

Megan

Frigging Insomnia.

Darn, once again I'm NOT SLEEPING. This, from the woman who can fall asleep almost anytime because she is so SLEEP-DEPRIVED, but when it's bedtime? The brain decides it's party time (and don't blame it on the massive amount of caffeine I ingest every day--that's just for maintenance so I don't fall down when walking).
So. While I was lying awake, I thought of how to end the WIP. Cool. Now to write the thing. I remembered that Octavian, the youth in HBO's new series Rome, ends up becoming the first emperor, Augustus Caesar (Thanks, I, Claudius!) so I felt all smart and stuff. Other than that?

Cursing the darkness, pretty much.

So I got up and went online. And confirmed the whole Octavian/Augustus thing, re-confirmed that Nazareth sang "Love Hurts" and visited a few blogs with the fave movie meme.

So I thought I'd take a stab at it, albeit a late stab. And excuse the lack of links or fancy font-leroy, I am starting to get tired.

Megan's favorite movies:

The Last Waltz: The Band's farewell concert movie, I've seen it maybe 100 times.
Persuasion: Jane Austen, Ciaran Hinds and a severely-repressed female. What's not to like?
Moonstruck: Nicolas Cage saying "I want you in my bed." Le swoon.
The Big Sleep: Raymond Chandler, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall. Who cares if it doesn't make sense?
Lion In Winter: Katharine Hepburn, Peter O'Toole giving all-out performances. Also features Anthony Hopkins and a very young Timothy Dalton.

This would probably all change if I thought about it more, but this is what is off the top of my head. The worst movie, however, will not change, no matter how hard I think: Torchlight, starring Pamela Sue Martin.

Okay, that is most likely the most asinine thing I've ever posted. But I hope now that I have reached that low, I can climb back up again. And, I think, I'm going to bed. I hope my brain is finished for the night.

See you in the daytime,

Megan

Duh.

That's vintagepbks.com.

Wow. Great book, great cover. I love vintagepbs.com (thanks, Meljean!) 

Ack!

So I seem to have woken up and realized my debut, A Singular Lady, will be out in a little over a month from now. Have I done any promotion? No. Will I? Um . . . well, probably not. I'm wondering--do bookmarks, book signings, promo postcards, banner ads, etc. make people interested in buying books? Say, for example, mine?
Or is it because you enjoy reading the way someone writes on, say, a blog-- or two--or a monthly column? Can you guess where I'm going with this?
That said, I think the Connected Husband's Best Friend is working on a book release party. Basically, just an excuse for me to go to Manhattan and drink without feeling guilty about leaving the six year-old at home with a babysitter.
So if you're reading this, and are in the NYC metro area, drop me an email and I'll let you know the details, if the party actually happens. Otherwise it'll be just me at dba drinking Weiss beer, a copy of my book sitting on the table beside me.

And I'm off to finish off the mommy-lit. The end is so close, and yet so far. I think the writing is not as good as in the beginning, either, but that's what second drafts are for, right? Not to mention honest, well-read friends.

Thanks for visiting,

Megan

Nothing Clever or Witty. I'm Worn Out.

The six year-old and I are leaving Providence tomorrow to return to Brooklyn. Today we went to a used bookstore, where I got ten books (!), but I think I already had two of them in the TBR pile. Drat me and the sieve-like brain. Then we went to the Providence Children's Museum, because I was worried we hadn't done enough for the offspring (sarcasm! sarcasm!).

I took pix at the zoo yesterday . . . anytime someone says being male or female is more a question of nurture than nature, I'd point you to this picture. I didn't ask him to strike a pose, he just did it. Just like he began threatening the faux dinosaurs at the special exhibit ("You want a piece of me? Huh? I'll get you, big boy!"). So not my style. Such a boy.

Last night, the Speed Reader Mother read my WIP. All 280 pp. of it, Times New Roman 12 pt. She said she liked it a lot, but this is the same woman who freely admits she remembers almost nothing of the books she reads (even right after she finishes them), so I have to take her compliment with reservations. And, because she is related to me, she did some copy-editing, too. Thanks, Mom!

And last, I've been embarrassed even to mention it, but I have been begging my web guy to add the links of blogs I visit every day to my blog. Apparently my begging needs some work, since he hasn't done it yet. I hope he will soon--it's kinda like going to dinner at someone's house repeatedly without ever issuing a reciprocal invitation.

Thanks for stopping by,

Megan

Dante's Dial-Up Hell

I've been on dial-up for the past few days. Dial-up, I curse you! If Dante were alive today, I think Being On Dial-up would be one of the Seven Circles of Hell, somewhere between Waiting For A Six Year-Old To Make Up His Mind About What Flavor Ice Cream To Buy While Dozens of Kids Wait Behind You and Stubbing Your Toe Before Your Nail Polish Is Dry.

We went to the Roger Williams Park Zoo today. It was fun, even though their signage sucks. Luckily, I am a New Yorker, so am used to walking everywhere (and dragging the reluctant spawn behind me), even if "everywhere" is a euphemism for "in circles." I've written 2,000 words so far this week, and The More Considerate Than She Used To Be Mother tried really hard not to break the spine of my romantic suspense, which she liked a lot (It was Karen Rose's Nothing To Fear, which I picked up at RWA National). The Dark Ages book had a slow start, but I'm getting into it ("it" being Susan Squires' Danelaw), which is good, but not so into it I won't be writing tonight. Which is also good. So, really, not a bad week after all. I'm looking forward to exercising again, though--I feel as if I am turning into an enormous carbohydrate.

Thanks for reading,

Megan

I Am An Idiot.

In addition to being flummoxed by the use of the word 'mayhap,' (see yesterday's post) apparently I can't comprehend back cover copy either. The book I thought was a medieval actually happens much earlier, somewhere around the Dark Ages and Alfred the Great. So instead of solars and girdles and mulled wine, I'm reading about druids, mystical horses, and Quests (with a capital "Q".). Luckily, I'm not enthralled by my choice of book, so I am actually writing tonight.

And another thing. There's been talk lately about how the Chick Lit genre is suffering a drop-off in popularity. Readers want to see meatier chick-lit, more than just stories about shoes, shopping, and drinking Cosmos. Well, duh. I think there were a fair amount of those types of books published in the first chick-lit wave that weren't so well-written. They just sounded good. You see, it's not that hard to write in first person; it's just you, only more heroine-like. It is hard, however, to write well in first person. You have to cut your brain's meanderings and keep in mind you are writing a character, not just sharing your opinion on all kinds of things. That's what a blog's for, right? Would anyone want to read even the most fascinating person blather on for pages and pages about their favorite items of clothing, and why? (Um, forget about Paris Hilton. That's just a sign of America's sickness.) A person who is facing trouble, conflict, and life choices, on the other hand, is interesting, and it's really cool to be inside her head. But it's hard to do well without being self-indulgent. Maybe I'm just projecting, but I'm glad for the backlash. It means some good stuff will be published, stuff that's not about shoes only a handful of women can actually afford. Of course I hope one of those future books will be mine, but even if not, it's a lot of fun to write. But hard. Which is the way it should be.

Thanks for reading,

Megan

Pants On Fire

Okay, so I thought I wouldn't be posting for a few days . . . I lied. It's just a little past nine o'clock in the evening, my son is zoning in front of TV for another few minutes and my mother (AKA the Fairly Slothlike Parent) has already retired, clutching one of my romantic suspense books in her spine-cracking, page-flattening hands. I like the woman, I just wish she wouldn't treat books as if their spirits were in need of crushing. So anyway, I'm wondering if I should start reading the crunchy medieval or the intense, intense Regency-set historical. On one hand, I cannot stand the word 'mayhap.' Can. Not. Stand. On the other, I've been avoiding Regencies 'cause I've been sick of the entire construct lately. I think I'm feeling too stupid to tackle the intensity, so to the dark, cold solar I will go. Mayhap.

Thanks for visiting,

Megan

And Another Fabulous Stop On My Whirlwind Life of Excitement

Tomorrow the son and I go to visit his grandmother, my mother, in Providence, RI. I'll probably be on dial-up, so will be posting more intermittently.

As I was walking home from the gym today, however, I was thinking about what makes me feel confident enough to walk out of the house without cowering. I came up with three things:

--Kiehl's Creme With Silk Groom: my hair is straight, yes, but not sleek enough. And now that there are some weird crinkly gray hairs popping up, it can sometimes actually be fluffy. I hate fluffy.
--well-managed eyebrows: To me, nothing can make or break a woman's face better than her eyebrows. Look around sometime and see if you agree.
--silver hoop earrings (and what did I just get for my birthday? Ah, bliss.): dresses up any outfit, even the ubiquitous jeans and tank top the fashionably-dressed stay-at-home mom wears.

So I have to go pack for the trip, and now I know exactly what I need.

Talk to you soon, thanks for visiting,

Megan

An 'Awwwww!' Moment

Today's my birthday*, a day shared with Coco Chanel, Samuel Richardson, and Bill Clinton. I got an email from the Occasionally Grumpy Dad, sent just after midnight last night. He said he wanted to be the first person to wish me a happy birthday, so he set his alarm to send me the message. Dad is a great guy who also values his sleep, so this is particularly touching. I got all gooey inside and everything. And, a friend pointed out last night, 41 is a prime number, which is cool. So I guess not being 40 is okay after all.

Thanks for saying 'awwwww!' with me,

Megan

*No need to post a happy birthday comment or anything. I'm not trolling for good wishes, I just thought it was sweet.

Progress!

I've written 2,000 words this week, which is approximately 2,000 more than I've done in a month. The WIP is almost finished, which is to say, the first draft. And it's fun to write! I've also taken the offspring to the Bronx Zoo, Target, Chuck E. Cheese, the local community pool, the gym (twice, but we had to leave early the second time because offspring got into a beef with the lady-in-charge), and a friend's house for a playdate. Today I think we're going to another zoo.

How come I can have been out of school for almost twenty years and September still feels like the beginning of the year, or a clean slate, or something to me? It's not just because the spawn returns to school--that's only a fairly recent occurrence, and this feeling has been with me my whole life. But come September, the start of a new year, I vow to cut down on blog-hopping. I'm addicted. It's hard to stop, 'cause I don't have too many off-line friends whom I talk to every day. The Picky Vegetarian is in another time zone, the Greco-Sicilian Doctor is, well, a doctor with two kids, and the Fancy-Schmancy Lawyer Partner is, well, a lawyer partner. So blog folks are my version of communicating with friends, even if it's usually one-sided (I try not to do too many comments, I don't want to be the guest who never leaves). But time on the keyboard is limited, and I shouldn't be spending it visiting. No, I shouldn't. No. I should be writing. I'll quit in September. I can quit anytime, right? September. I promise.

Thanks for reading,

Megan

How I spent my summer vacation. 

If Seth Bullock can't inspire me, nothing can. This guy looks remarkably like the hero in my current book. That walk! That look! Ah, now I can write. 

It's Really Hard to Kick Your Own Ass

If there's one thing I cannot stand (and you know, there are many things that make my teeth grit even more than they usually do), it's people who post the 'too tired/grumpy/busy to blog' post.

The reason should be obvious.

But I came thisclose to it today. Until I realized it was just part of a self-destructive impulse, something that made me want to punish myself even as I did something that, to my mind, is (incredibly) lame.
Okay. So where does this impulse stem from?

It's the writing, stupid.

August--all of summer, actually--has proven an impossible month for me to write in, thanks to the responsibilities of being a S.A.H.M. Not that I mind hanging out in Chuck E. Cheese, but your brain definitely leaks some fluid every time you catch sight of that annoying rodent.

So I've still got this book to finish writing, not that I know if it'll even sell once I finish it, not that I know if it's okay, not that I know I'm not wasting my life. I turn 41 in a few days, and being 40 is much cooler than being in my 40s. Blah, blah, blah.

But if I give up, then what? Then I hate myself even more, and that, oddly enough, is possible--when I am being creative, I feel good about myself.

What helps you out of a grumpy slump, whether it's wanting to write, finish cleaning the bathroom, or get enthused about your day-job, whatever it is?
(And don't suggest chocolate, I'm beating myself up about gaining weight, too.)

For me, I think the answer is as simple as just finish writing the book, moron.

Thanks for the advice,

Megan

News'n'Things

First of all, have you ever noticed how bland NPR shows' titles are? One of the local NY stations has a show called "News And Notes," which is honestly the most boring thing I've ever encountered. And yes, before you ask, I have read Anthony Trollope.

Second, a group of Regency Authors and I have started another blog--take a hike over to http://riskyregencies.blogspot.com/ and see what we're doing, if you're interested in the Regency side of my author equation.

Third, we are on the last night of vacation and, I am pleased to report, my sunburn has turned to tan, and I am still more tan than my beach-loving husband. Ha!

Fourth, thanks for stopping, see you when we're back in NY,

Megan

Hot Fun In The Summertime

Okay, so my 'I have a tan' boasting has hoisted me on my own petard. I got burnt today, despite the liberal application of 45 SPF suntan lotion. Not too badly, but my shoulders are pink. So much for impressing my friends with my dark, swarthy look when I return to New York. I had insomnia last night, too, only I spent it in thinking of more ideas for the future WIP, so that wasn't too much of a waste of time. And I went running today, so I didn't feel like an out-and-out slug. No ice cream, either.
I've spent some of my vacation time thinking a lot about many long, interesting posts I can make when I return from the Purgatory of Dial-Up so I won't always be talking about 1) people's ridiculous choice of clothing 2) how much I can't stand people's inanities and 3) how idiotic I am when it comes to my own insecurities. I mean, honestly, sometimes I bore myself.

Thanks for visiting,

Megan

"Stressed" Is "Desserts" Spelled Backwards

When I was little, I had those posters that said things like 'My tastes are simple . . . I like to have the best' up on my walls. Why? I have no idea, honestly. Probably because I was searching for some sort of identity I could call my own. Now those kinds of sentiments (like the title of this blog) get on my last nerve.
But . . . my tastes are simple. Right now, I am Exceedingly Happy because the Indulgent Husband took me to the used bookstore in this Jersey Shore town, and I scored. Karen Ranney, Jean Ross Ewing, an Anne Stuart anthology (becauses, you know, I just don't have enough of her), lots of other miscellaneous romance and a smidge of SF. The I.H. also got a few books, as did the six year-old. To continue the 'scoring' metaphor, I felt like a junkie getting a long-awaited fix. My tastes are simple: all I need is caffeine and books. As a bonus, I also have a tan, with tan lines. Me, the White Witch of the East. Cool beans!
I told the Picky Vegetarian my high-concept idea for the next book and she liked it. I kinda can't wait until I can get back to writing, but meanwhile--pass me that mass-market paperback and another cappucino, will ya?

Thanks for reading,

Megan

Feast Or Famine

I realized I've been posting a lot . . . a lot! But I'll be slowing down, what with going to the beach and all (sand and computers? Not such a good mix). But before I go . . . I love summer, but I don't love what people choose to wear to keep cool.
The muffin top. The muffin top is the roll of skin pushed up by the low-cut tight jeans and pushed down by the equally tight short shirt. Even if you're skinny, you can become victim to the muffin top. Honestly, is it so hard to look in the mirror and ask yourself, 'do I look good, or do I look like I've had a few too many frappucinos?' Hey, here's a radical idea, how about buying clothes that fit?!?
Oh. My. God. Now I sound like a mother (not my mother, mind you, but someone's). But I am about to head for a beach community and am dreading the muffin top as I've never dreaded a baked good before.

Stay cool,

Megan

Magpie Alert!

Besides the birthday, Coco Chanel and I have another thing in common: a "love of things that glitter ." The Much Subtler Than I Husband says I'm a magpie, attracted to bright, shiny objects. I like to say the only loud thing about me is my clothing. I love wearing florals, rhinestones, sequins, leopard prints, and silver (Not all together, mind you, then I'd look like a half-drunk, blind Madam). Like Chanel, I prefer texture over prints, black over any other color, and suggestion over outright statement.

It was a cool exhibit. I'm glad I went.

Thanks for stopping,

Megan

Indulge, You're Worth It.

Every women's magazine, writer's guide, mommys' group, etc., offers a variant of the same theme: take time out and do something for yourself. To which I usually scowl, thinking, if I could do something for myself I'd be writing or sleeping, not getting a massage or buying myself some flowers, you jackass. Plus whatever they want you to do is usually expensive, and that's not in my budget.
But today I am going to do something for myself, even though it is both time-consuming and pricey: visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art so I can view this exhibit before it closes. Coco Chanel made damn beautiful clothes. And she and I share a birthday (!). So I am going to the Museum to see her work, plus visit John Singer Sargent's Madame X, which I posted a pic of before. Plus it's air-conditioned, and it's supposed to be 95 degrees here in New York today.
Woo-hoo! Self-indulgent fun, here I come!

Thanks for reading,

Megan

I'm High!

No, not that kind of high (although the first time? It was thanks to my high school geometry teacher. No lie.)
No, I thought of a high-concept (the buzzword from Reno) idea for my next book. So cool and so high concept and so uniquely me I can't share. But it's there, and it came to me while on the plane ride back home from Reno, so I guess some good came out of Conference. I just have to finish with this ?!%$! book I'm writing now. Oh, and go to the beach where I'll feel like a marshmallow in a sea of butterscotch*.

Thanks for coming by,

Megan
*In other words, everyone will be tan but me.

Thanks to Marley for taking this photo...this was my grandmother's dress which, thankfully, I am able to squeeze into. I wore this to Saturday night's Golden Heart and RITA awards.  

Gone, Baby, Gone

All my files, programs, folders, pix of Clive Owen, the son's "Awesome" poem, pix of Timothy Olyphant, are gone. And worse yet, it's all my fault. In trying to fix my computer, I deleted something that wiped out all my information. But Dell is not charging me for the phone assistance, since they couldn't solve the problem, and now I know. I can move on. Every writer knows this, but always back up or upload. I would be a helluva lot more upset if I didn't upload anything important to my Yahoo briefcase.

More later. Off to do laundry.

Megan

In one of my vintage gowns at the Beau Monde Soiree. The best part is the back, with tons of white ruffles cascading down, but another friend took that pic. Anyway. Still fighting with the computer, but continuing to do what I can. 

I Am In Hell.

I'm on hold with Dell customer support. I have been for more than half an hour. Why don't I hang up and call at a less popular time? Hm? Because I want to get this problem solved, and cannot move on with anything until it is. Sometimes I regret being so methodical.

To distract myself while my computer and I engage in virtual mud-wrestling: H.J. Ford's illustration for "Donkey Skin" in one of Andrew Lang's fairy tale collections. More on this later. 

AAAGGGHHHH!

This is a no-holds barred bitch post. So if you're hoping for insight, wisdom, snarky comments, etc., go away and come back later.

While in Reno, my computer reset itself to its default settings. I could only find my documents by doing a search, could not find the shortcuts to access the menus and programs, etc. I came back and, I believe, deleted even the hidden things. I cannot find my documents or programs anywhere, even though I know they are there.

If anyone has any advice for restoring my settings, please share. Please. I always save my WIP to Yahoo, so even if it's lost it's not totally lost, but I'd like to be able to find my web bookmarks, etc. I am sitting here in my jammies, sweaty, unable to get up because I hope I can find the solution.

More later. Clearly, no writing today. I am going to the gym where I will work off my frustration. Aaagh.

Thanks for sharing my pain,

Megan