Like a lot of you out there, I've got New Year's Resolutions up the ying-yang. I'll be posting them in a few days (I figure they can wait, I won't be starting on them until Monday anyway. Or Tuesday, when the six year-old goes back to school).

This New Year's, we'll be doing what we usually do: put the little guy to bed, then eat stinky cheese, pate and cornichons and drink fizzy drinks. We bought the Lord of the Rings trilogy and haven't (re)watched it yet, plus I bought the Bitterly Sarcastic Husband an Eddie Izzard three-pack of DVDs (have you seen Eddie Izzard? Well, I know the Delightful Phone Friend has; but have you? Oh, my gosh, hysterically funny).

I've been tired and stressed the last few days, so am feeling myself anything but hysterically funny; I'll add 'be hysterically funny' to my New Year's Resolutions.

Meanwhile, Happy New Year, everyone!

Megan

Down For The Count

The Picky Vegetarian has politely informed me I am falling down on the job because Powell's has, in fact, sold another copy of my book, bringing the grand total to 18 sold. And, even cooler, is that Powell's has ordered four more copies!

The Museum of Natural History was fine, although it was as crowded as I have ever seen it. And can I say, that as outrageous as some teenaged girls' clothing is here, girls from out of town dress even sluttier? I think that's because there aren't as many repercussions to looking like a 'ho in the suburbs as there are here. I mean, here you walk around the streets and are near people, people who might gawk and goggle at yourself all hanging out and such. In the 'burbs, you get in your car, go to school (where your friends are 'ho-ed out like you are), go to the mall where they sell the 'ho clothes, then go somewhere, all within your own safe purview.
So think about that when you visit our fair city. Just saying.

Thanks for respecting NYC,

Megan

Come On In, The Water's Fine!

I'm over at the Risky Regencies blog today, talking about my favorite books for the year. Not this year, necessarily, but the year. Okay then.

Today I am taking the six year-old and his buddy to the American Museum of Natural History. I am not sure there is enough caffeine to get me through it, but gosh darn it, I will try.

I won't be posting tomorrow, so Happy Friday in advance.

Thanks for clicking through,

Megan 

My Mother Is Not Dead

"So I've got a small bone to pick with you."
"What's that, Mom?"
"In your acknowledgements*, you mention your husband and you mention your father, but you don't say anything about me. People are going to think I'm dead!"
"Mom, you had nothing to do with the writing of this book. Scott was totally supportive, and helped me with the plot, Dad read every single word at least five times. You told me the first three chapters were slow, and you didn't want to read the rest."
". . . Although I bet if I were dead, you'd have dedicated it to me."
"Rest assured, Ma, even if you were dead, I wouldn't have mentioned you. You can die easy knowing that."
"Hmph."

Thanks for not being mad I didn't mention you,

Megan
*Did you notice my book came out in October, and now is the first time she's cracked the book open long enough to notice the acknowledgement? Hmph back at you, sister.

My Boys at Christmas

 
Do they not look EXACTLY like each other? I swear, if I hadn't been fat for nine months, I would've doubted I had anything to do with it. 

Christmas Morning Hugging

 
The poor guy. He can't even open presents without me grabbing him for a hug. 

Another One Bites The Dust!

I see Powell's has sold ANOTHER copy of my book (and rest assured, dear visitors, one of my New Year's resolutions is to STOP TALKING ABOUT MY ONLY PUBLISHED BOOK AND HOW MANY COPIES IT'S SOLD AT THE PICKY VEGETARIAN'S PLACE OF WORK).

17 copies sold there. Yay, yay, yay!

And the relative who said she was going to get it out of the library? I think I shamed her into buying it. Hee, hee.

Slug-like And Happy(ish)

We're on our way back to Brooklyn today, back to the place where I have to do all the dishes, make all the meals, provide all the entertainment. And yet, I am very excited to get back home. It's weird being a grown-up and having someone else do everything. But if I try to do anything myself, it's usually wrong, or at the wrong time, or cause to begin the Passive-Aggressive Theatre show. You know, that show's been running longer than Cats.

For all that the dreaded f-word (FAMILY) is involved, it hasn't been that bad. Maybe because I've attempted to ignore the family members who most annoy me, and concentrated on having fun with the ones who are the most fun to see.

I've had plenty of time to think about my two projects--the mom-lit, which I'm editing, and the historical, which I'm going to write new words on as soon as the mom-lit is out the door to the new agent (which is another cause for stress, but I am trying to stay positive about that, too). I think I can get the mom-lit out the door the first week of January, give or take a day or two.

And, although I absolutely hate year-end retrospectives, I love New Year's Resolutions. I've already made a bunch of them, and I am feeling oddly optimistic (I say oddly because I think at best I'm an almost half-empty kind of gal).

I'll be over at the Risky Regencies hang-out tomorrow; back to normal programming on Thursday.

Hope everyone had a happy holiday, or at least some time to rest.

Thanks for dropping by,

Megan

Dead Air

I am off--off for the holidays, trying to wean myself off of the internet, off to deal with the excited six year-old ("Mommy, does Santa really exist, or is it something parents made up to make Christmas even better?"), off to help the Exhausted Spouse, off to deal with the relatives, who range in temperament from solipsistic to selfless.

(I'm bringing a boatload of books, just in case I get a little Grinchy and need to escape.)

I hope everyone gets just what they want for Christmas, and I will see you in this space sometime next week.

Happy Holidays!

Megan

Are you there, Santa? It's me, Megan

Dear Santa:

I've been pretty good this year. At least I think so; I've tried to be supportive, patient and loving with my family, and I think I've succeeded at that most of the time (albeit fueled by liberal applications of coffee). I've had a book published, which was awesome, and I've made a bunch of new friends: smart women who read romance. I know you're busy, but I wanted to give you some ideas for me, just in case those diamond hoop earrings aren't available.

1. Mary Balogh's backlist of traditional Regencies, or at least the ones I don't have: The Trysting Place, the Constant Heart, A Certain Magic, the Wood Nymph and a few others. Oh, and a new copy of The Secret Pearl, which I let go on eBay when that silly phone bill had to be paid.

2. For my next published book, I'd like a cover as lovely as any of the ones Liz Carlyle's got; I would've posted an example, but see #14 to understand why I didn't.

3. Um, I'd like a contract for a next published book, too.

4. Anne Stuart's gothic Regency, The Houseparty. I've got some of her other Candlelights, but I want them all. ALL! Mwahahaha!

5. More bookshelves.

6. I'd like to receive just a smidge of Eloisa James's way with dialogue. Oh, and maybe a tiny dab of her way with female friendships, too? And while you're at it, if you're feeling generous, how about her print run? Oh. Okay. I just thought I'd ask.

7. More time to read.

8. Oh, and of course, more time to write.

9. If you could, could you take away my addiction to going online? It's fine for checking my Amazon rank, and how many books Powell's in Portland has sold (so far, 16 copies! Thanks, best-friend-who-did-a-shelf-talker-for-it. Marketing really does work!), but when it means I don't do #s 7 and 8, that's a problem.

10. A plot. I can come up with some, but they're not always so good, if you know what I mean. I can take care of the characters myself.

11. You know that RITA contest I entered? Yeah, you're way ahead of me. Thanks.

12. A snappy comeback that doesn't involved me getting defensive when someone expresses surprise that I both read and write romance. And no, expletives are not allowed.

13. Um . . . let's see. Oh, yeah, to have a goal (to get to #15!) and be able to meet it.

14. To be able to post pictures to this blog without wanting to hang myself.

15. Him:




Thanks! See you Sunday!

Megan

Another Reader Review!

Alyssa reviewed A Singular Lady! Click on over and see what she's got to say. Sorry about the weird white space underneath the cover; I've decided to forego perfection so as to retain my sanity.

More Than Halfway Done!

The transit strike is in full effect (yo), and the Conscientious and Christmas-Loving Husband is doing everything he can to see if so he can leave work early tomorrow (or, at least, not late). If the strike is still on, he'll be walking home from downtown Manhattan tomorrow afternoon. So instead of thinking about the mother-in-law's homemade donuts, Christmas cheer, and the bucketload of presents our son is going to get, we're thinking about travel plans, inconvenience, aggravation, and contingincies. Blech.

The Downside:
It's been a weird couple of days--in addition to the transit workers, back pain has also struck, so I haven't made it to the gym. Which, for me, is a problem. I've also noticed I have a severe addiction to the internet (well, duh, Megan). The end result of all that is feeling kinda pathetic and blobby at the end of the day. I hate that.

Being a writer means spending a lot of time in your own head, which for me is hardly relaxing. And being a writer also means spending a lot of time alone, as if being a stay-at-home mom weren't enough. I've found myself desperately roaming around the internet, whether for procrastination purposes, an escape from solitude, or just because it's a bad habit. So I am going to start monitoring myself--I think I'll feel better about myself, and certainly get a lot more done offline. I hope it goes better than my ill-fated coffee reduction.

The Upside:
BUT I am more than halfway done with my revisions, have added almost 20 pages to my WIP, and am thinking I will be able to send the whole ms. to my new agent in the first week of the new year. So yay.

AND I have figured out a way to make the beta-fop from my WIP historical into a wicked alpha (probably still a bit of a fop, but he'll have alpha motivation). My new agent wants to see that, too, even though it's only half finished. When the mommy-lit revisions are done, I am going to leap back in time to the historical. So, again with the yay.

AND Powell's sold yet another book. 16 in all. Triple yay!

There is good stuff happening, sometimes it's just hard to see the forest for the trees. Especially when the trees are STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU blocking the view.

Megan

Best Christmas Gifts Ever

When I wrote about the Worst Christmas Gift Ever, I also promised to write about the best. Over the years, I've gotten some amazing gifts: jewelry, coats, mittens (although never the Megan-required mitten strings. Maybe I wouldn't need so many mittens if I had gotten those), sweaters, etc.

But the first Fabulous Christmas I remember was when I was about 16 or so. I was just getting into New Wave, and my dad went to Newbury Comics--then just a small store on Boston's Newbury St.--and asked them for recommendations. He came home with Gang of Four's Entertainment! and Public Image Ltd.'s Metal Box (three pieces of vinyl packaged in, yes, a metal box). Entertainment! remains one of my favorite records ever, and I probably owe my obsession with music, and subsequent 15 years in the music industry, to that record. Even then, I knew my dad could ill afford such largesse--he also got me a Panasonic boom box, and even more records--but it was such an amazing Christmas. And he always made the rent somehow.

After I was laid off in 2001, and begun work on A Singular Lady, the Clever And Supportive Spouse hunted down a variety of reference books. Books on period clothing, the Regency underworld, a general reference book, and some other stuff. Heaven.

I've always liked enormous rings, but I have fairly small hands, so I usually look like a girl playing dress-up when I find a ring whose size I like. Again, the husband hunted down the ultimate cocktail ring, and gave it to me for Christmas. It's huge, gaudy, sparkly, and all those other things I love, but it doesn't overwhelm my hand. Bliss.

And at another time, my mother-in-law gave me pajamas with leopard-patterned coffee cups all over them. I mean, how much more perfect could they be? I love pajamas, leopard, coffee, and sleeping. Can't beat it with a stick.

So--what are your most memorable, bestest Christmas gifts ever?

Thanks for sharing,

Megan
PS: I actually have pictures of Metal Box, a similar cocktail ring, a few of the books I got, etc., but could I get the pictures to post? No. And I just don't have enough time or patience to fuss with it. Drat.

Old Saint Mick

 

You know, my dad gets quite popular around this time of year. 

Kiss Me, Kiss My Kismet

 
  So after the high drama of this morning, I had some very nice things happen to me today, above and beyond all of the nice comments you all left for me (and could I say 'nice' anymore times? Who do I think I am, Mr. Rogers?). And I am almost halfway done with my revisions, although I'm still not convinced the plot hangs together well enough. But the accomplishment still feels good. Nice, almost.

The Delightful Phone Friend sent me a Christmas gift from Pemberley.com. It's a t-shirt with pictures of the Mercenaries, the money-minded ladies from Jane Austen's books.

The Picky Vegetarian sent me a picture of her with Jack Klugman (he signed books at Powell's), a map of Powell's, and a gift card. For Powell's. We're preparing for my visit out there in February. Can. Not. Wait.

Plus she told me Powell's sold another copy of my book, bringing my Powell's sales to a grand total of 15. 15 copies! My book! Woo-hoo!

A long-ago friend (I met him when I was two, probably) sent me a brochure from the Brighton Pavilion, the opulent mess the Prince Regent built almost two hundred years ago. Amazing pictures, haven't had the time to read the copy yet. I can't believe he sent me something so wonderful--we haven't communicated regularly for maybe ten years, although I do see him when I visit Cambridge every so often. Really, really thoughtful.

In other news, it seems as though New York City will have a transit strike tomorrow. That means the husband will probably not be able to get to work, school opening will be delayed for two hours, and the city will effectively close. My own world is so small, and reached by foot, that I won't be personally affected, but it's going to be strange. It has affirmed my opinion that New York's governor is the most ineffectual leader ever, and what's more, he makes John Kerry look charismatic.

Okay. Back to revisions, so I can have the good news of being finished sometime within the next couple of weeks. And, by the way, when did Blogger decide it wanted me not to post any pictures? Grr.

Thanks for dropping by, again,

Megan

Negative Criticism

I got an unfriendly comment from a visitor to this site (see yesterday's comment), and went to bed all fussed up about it. Perky I will not concede, but am I pedestrian? It is a distinct possibility. More than that, however, I cannot STAND that I allowed myself to get worked up over someone else's premise, based on reading one entry of my Diary.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And then I woke up this morning wondering if I should even try being a writer after all--if instead, maybe, I should concentrate my efforts on something else. What that something else would be I don't know, but I'm sure it would pay better. Or my house would be cleaner.
Man, I am sensitive.
But if I didn't read so voraciously, and want to write so badly, I wouldn't be as intellectually stimulated. So I'd be more boring. Or, really, more boring-er. And the Proud Husband wouldn't have a conversation stopper ("my wife's a romance novelist. Yup. No, they're not called bodice-rippers anymore, but my wife will rip your head off for saying so."), for what that's worth. And the voices in my head would have no-one to talk to.
Gah. I have to stop being such a ninny. That'll be my first New Year's Resolution. Along with, oh, about a zillion other things I should stop or start doing. Darn.
Oh, right. Stop being overwhelmed. That's another one.
Okay. Now I've got to go stop being overwhelmed by the revisions process, so I can call myself a writer without feeling like a fraud*.

Thanks for visiting,

Megan
*Is it ironic or just ridiculous that most writers don't feel like writers, and constantly worry someone's going to discover they secretly suck?

Coop-Flying

This weekend, the six year-old had his first official sleepover (there was one about a year ago, but we picked him up in the middle of the night). The plan was for him and his friend (and his friend's older sister and younger brother) to go see the Narnia movie, and then he'd stay over at his friend's house, leaving me and his dad ALONE FOR THE EVENING.

And while this might sound exciting at first, I found myself checking my cell phone, and thinking about him, and missing him, and all that.

As it happened, however, the Knicks Season Ticket Holder Husband had a spare ticket for the game, so he and I went into the city, did a speck of shopping, ate dosas (mm . . . Indian crepes filled with yumminess), and saw the Indiana Pacers beat those darn (and darn stinky) Knicks. Then we came home and split a bottle of wine. So it was really pretty darn great after all.

Ouch, my head. Remind me not to love wine so much.

And today, when I picked him up, he didn't want to go home. Maybe because he knew I'd hug the stuffing out of him once we got there. And now? Off at a playdate, leaving me and the Spouse alone again. So what am I doing? (besides this, of course): cleaning the stove. Cleaning the refrigerator. Oh, and if things get really exciting, maybe I'll mop the floor*.
I have the feeling the cat has been loosed among the chickens now, and sleepovers will be the order of the day. Which is good for him, and good for me, but . . . is this just the first step towards him not being my own little guy anymore? I know I'll hate it when he asks me to stop calling him 'bunny,' and I bet that day is coming sooner rather than later.

Thanks for stopping by,

Megan
*Didn't.

I was tagged by Amy (thanks, Amy!), so here goes:

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. See what my wonderful, lovely, irascible son ends up becoming.
2. Make a living writing.
3. Go out in an RV and visit used bookstores in every little town I can find.
4. Refuse to accept someone's premise, just once.
5. Wear the same jeans I have now for the rest of my life.
6. Enjoy running (see #5).
7. Eat at the French Laundry restaurant in California (oh, but #s5 & #6 might be compromised).

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Plot.
2. Read a map.
3. Be spontaneous.
4. Improvise a recipe.
5. Talk on the phone without getting a little anxious.
6. Tell someone 'no.'
7. Go anywhere without getting lost.

Seven Things That Attract Me To My Spouse (or Significant Other, Best Friend, etc.)
1. His intelligence.
2. His wit.
3. His QUICK wit.
4. His support for me and what I want to do.
5. His legs.
6. His work ethic.
7. His sense of direction.

Seven Things I Say (or Write) Most Often:
1. Rats.
2. So.
3. Anyway.
4. [Son's name].
5. Before I turn 42, okay?
6. Gah.
7. Darn.

Seven Books (or Series) I love:
1. Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase
2. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
3. Stardoc series by S.L. Viehl
4. Sharpe series by Bernard Cornwell
5. Notorious Rake by Mary Balogh
6. Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
7. Fairy Books by Andrew Lang

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again:
1. Persuasion
2. Moonstruck
3. The Warriors
4. Pride & Prejudice
5. Lion In Winter
6. LOTR -- any of 'em
7. Maltese Falcon

Seven People I Want To Join In (Be Tagged)
1. Suisan
2. Cindy S.
3. Nicole
4. Ilene
5. Elizabeth Mahon
6. Alyssa, only she's on deadline for a project, as is Meljean, whom I'd also tag.
7. Angie, aka Brianna's Mommy

Happy Birthday!

It's my mother-in-law's birthday! Happy Birthday!

List-Checking

1. Looks like we might actually have a transit strike here. It means the Newly-Salaried Husband will be working from home, and the six year-old's school will begin two hours later than usual (our two block walk to school? Not affected).

2. All the Christmas discs have been mailed out, and I used the fancy self-serve machine at the P.O. How awesome does it feel to get something like that done? Plus no-one runs the risk of going postal. I hope everyone likes them, I think it's one of the best discs the spouse has ever done (although some of the levels are off, damn that Roxio program).

3. Speaking of which, all the Christmas cards were mailed. Have I mentioned CHRISTMAS CARDS ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE? Note to the Picky Vegetarian: Yes, another year, and I am still too lame to have gotten photos of the small fry made to insert in the cards. Everyone's going to have to do with emailed pix.

4. And also speaking of which, I went and got something notarized. That is truly an accomplishment.

5. And tonight I have no excuse or procrastination: revisions await. I am halfway through the book, and the rest isn't nearly as hard to edit as the first half. Plus, someone whose opinion I trust read some of my historical, and loved the writing, although confirmed my suspicions that my hero is stinky. I think I should have known because I've never been happy with his name, and for me, the name has come first, the character later. She didn't think I should scrap it all (even though I suggested it), and she's promised to help me with some of that pesky plot stuff in January. She mentioned she really liked the writing a few times, so that makes me feel not so lame.

6. The good friend dreamt I sold the mom-lit in a two-book deal. Plus, the same good friend went and got a hat because I mocked people without them in an earlier post. That's the power of the internet, my friend.

7. I got no #7. Gotta go pick the guy up from school.

8. Christmas is coming! And my chores are almost done!

9. Oh, and I bought myself a wee present at Sephora. I love Sephora.

How's your list going?

Megan

Nothing To Say*

I got nothing. Zilch. I've been thinking of things to mention all day, but it's all so dull, even I don't care. And it's my life.

The cold weather? Oo-eey, it's sure cold out there. Topic over.

My revisions? Yeah, they're going, so?

Holiday preparation? Must write cards tonight. Hate writing cards. End of that subject.

Back at the gym. Not feeling QUITE as lame and out-of-shape. Although with this post, I am feeling lame, only not in the 'I'm gaining weight like a moose' way.

Other than that, zip.

Thanks for not mocking me,

Megan
*"Nothing To Say" is a Soundgarden song. I could say a lot about how much I love Soundgarden, but honestly, why would anyone care?

Cold Tuesday

It is really cold here. I know I shouldn't be surprised, it's the Northeast after all, but it's seriously frigid. I am proudly dressed in my winter black outfit--black sweater, black jeans, black boots--and will be heading out to have lunch with a girlfriend in just a few minutes. Yes, it sounds like I'm a lady-who-lunches, but usually my lunch is pb&j gulped down inbetween laundry, writing, grocery shopping (because running out of pb is a tragedy), and that other stuff I like to call my life.

Now the friend I am meeting is honestly one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. She's tall--5'10", with the correspondingly long legs you always read about those romance heroines having. She's got these gorgeous greenish-amber eyes, perfect blonde highlights in her shoulder-length hair, and an amazing bust. She's also smart, savvy, well-read, funny, and stylish. And my former boss. I should hate her, but I don't; in fact, I count her among my closest friends, even though we don't get to see each other that often. I do frequently feel like a dark little troll next to her--I know I'm not dog-ugly, but at my best I'm nothing more than pretty. This woman is spectacular. And now she's pregnant, and she's still gorgeous. Is life fair?

Does anyone else have a stunning friend? Does it affect your friendship? Do you feel comfortable having a beautiful friend?

Thanks for visiting,

Megan

Busy, busy, busy

Last Saturday evening, the Super-Smart Lawyer and I got together for pulled pork sandwiches, prosecco and creme de cassis, and a viewing of Jane Eyre, featuring Timothy Dalton. I think Timothy Dalton was my first movie-star crush--I saw him brood up a storm in Wuthering Heights, and smug and smirk himself through Lion In Winter (one of the best movies ever!), so this was a fine treat. The S-S L had gotten it from a friend who hated it, so we weren't expecting too much. And we didn't get so much until Rochester (Dalton) showed up. And then, bang, zoom! The electricity between the two leads was, um, electric. We still haven't finished watching it--it's one of those BBC Drama series, so is crazy long--but already it is a great version. Jane Eyre was one of my favorite books growing up (how could I relate to a strange, smart girl who felt alienated in her own skin? And had selfish thoughts? I wasn't skinny, though) and like most of the books I read when young, I've probably read it way more than 20 times. I am thinking about pulling it out after I finish these damn revisions. No chocolate for me.

Today I mailed out the Christmas discs, went to the gym (which didn't suck--yay!), and did a smidge of housecleaning.

Noticeably absent from the list? Revisions. Tonight, I expect--the Knicks Ticket Holder Husband is going to a game, and I will be on my own once the small fry goes to bed in the 8:00 range.

And if I can keep myself from procrastinating, I will do some revisions. I still want to have them done by the end of the year, although some might say I am pushing it.

Happy Monday,

Megan

Okay, so this is just weird.

I am clearly not a person much given to mysticism, or fortune-telling, or anything. I do have this strange fatalistic streak in me, and I also check my horoscope every so often, just for inspiration. This is today's, courtesy of the Earthlink homepage:

Leo

For those of us who know the real you, it is frustrating to see your lack of confidence, dear Leo. The range of your talents and abilities is startling to the rest of us mere mortals, yet you rarely give yourself credit for all that you are capable of. Today you are given an opportunity to participate in a project that could make or break your career. We can see you hesitating, weighing your capabilities in your mind and coming up short. We say, "Pshaw." Not only can you do this, you can do it better than anyone else. Get over yourself and accept the challenge, for goodness sake.

Well, all right then. Gotta get over myself.

Megan

Climbing Out of the Slough of Despond*

Last Thursday, I got a call from my agent that she is leaving agent-work to go to grad school. My agent is a very smart person (I know 'cause she likes my writing), and I think she will succeed in whatever she does. So yay for her!

The upshot of that is that I will now be repped by the head of the agency, which is good in several ways. Now I have no excuse not to be doing revisions because my (new-to-me) agent will want to see some pages soon, and I have the feeling she will want to start trying to sell my stuff sooner rather than later.

I also have to get back to the gym. The news on the scale today was the Worst Yet. It's hard to be in diet mode around this time, but if I enter 2006 with all this extra weight, it will be a sad New Year's for me. And being thin(ner) is way more important than seeing what that cookie with the creme filling tastes like. I have to keep that in mind as the month progresses.

The good news is that I am feeling more inspired, both for revisions, and for the gym. I've asked a writing friend to take a look at the first three chapters of my historical, and my plan is to send both the mom-lit and the historical to my agent within a few weeks.

And I really find the story asinine, but that little engine's refrain keeps going through my head: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

So, tell me how those cookies taste. Not nearly as good as I'm imagining, right?

Megan
*Not that I've read Pilgrim's Progress, but I read Little Women enough times. I think 'Slough of Despond' is an amazing phrase.

Good Things, Bad Things

It's Saturday, the Helpful Husband is away for the weekend helping his mom decorate the house for Christmas (can someone say sleeping mice?), and the Six Year-Old and I are hanging out and having fun. This afternoon, we're seeing The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe. I think I might be more excited than he is.

I discovered C.S. Lewis in third grade. I read all of the Narnia books at least 20 times each, and adopted an Aslanian skew to my life. It was only about twenty years after that I found out C.S. Lewis was a Christian, and based his books on Christian teachings. Me, the heathen, didn't recognize those disguised parts, so I sorta felt like I was hoodwinked when it was pointed out to me. I got over it, though, and since Lewis's ideas are generally good ones, I'm okay with the deception that was propagated on me. Plus, it's a fantastic story. I'm reading L,W, and the W to my son now, and unlike some other childhood favorites, the writing still flows well.

My friend since high school, the Super-Smart Lawyer, is coming over tonight for dinner. I'm making pulled pork sandwiches, and the meat in question is already in the slow cooker, so my work is practically done! How cool is that? The S-S L is bringing wine, and the plan is to watch one of the LOTR movies, drink, and urge the cuties to take their clothes off. It's a blast.

Last night, I emailed with the Picky Vegetarian, who bought me some Indian cookbooks from Powell's, and will be mailing them next week. Yay! They're used! They're great! I'll find a good samosa recipe!

I am trying really hard not to think about the bad things, paramount of which is the weight gain which is still happening. I come from a long line of food- and weight-obsessed women (members of my family have, or are, morbidly obese, anorexic, and bulimic), and I worry I'll end up fat and miserable. I haven't been to the gym for awhile, though, and I am a healthy eater, so I think when I can feel the exercise pull again, probably Monday, I'll head back down the scale. I hope.*

Another bad thing is that it's been hard for me to get back into revisions--I did the biggest plot change, but I need to go through the rest of the book and tighten it up. Have you noticed I can be a little . . . wordy? Again, that'll probably happen on Monday.

So, to recap: movie, pulled pork, Madhur Jaffrey, Legolas, good. Weight, revisions progress, bad. Mood, okay, although I can feel the pull of the dark side. Must resist.

What are you doing this weekend?

Megan
*I know. I promised no weight talk. But I am at my highest since post-baby, and that is crazy depressing. I'm still not fat or anything, but I could be. And that potential is killing me.

Another review of ASL!

And the hits just keep on coming . . . Nicole reviewed A Singular Lady over at her place; click here to read. I think her comments are dead-on, especially the 'delightful dry wit' part. In hindsight, I do agree Titania and Edwin do not spend enough time together--the original version had them meeting more often, but when I edited, I had to cut what wasn't essential to the plot, so I cut a few scenes of them just interacting. Which didn't advance the plot, although it did contribute to the believability of the HEA, so in that way, those scenes did advance the plot. Ah, live and learn.

Thanks, Nicole!

Megan

C.O.

Okay, so I know I kinda, sorta promised not to talk about him for awhile. So I'm not talking. I am drooling, but not talking.

Note to Self: Snap Out Of It!

I woke up in a foul mood today. I have a few ideas why, none of which I'll bother you with here, but on top of the foul mood, it's bothering me I'm in a foul mood in the first place. So I'll leave you with an exhortation to read the Worst Gift Ever post (the one just below with that weird, and weirdly large, orange and pink thing) and share your worst gifts in the comments section. Or just wince at the post, and then the commenters' thoughts (I still can't get over the red patent leather sweater).

Tomorrow is another day,

Megan

Worst. Christmas Gift. Ever.

It's no surprise that Christmas is on my mind. After all, we've got the ginormous tree up and decorated, the six year-old is asking me every day if I'm buying him presents, and the Christmas Music Obsessed Husband has made his annual CD (which, fearless listeners, will be mailed out probably early next week, not the end of this one, as previously promised. My bad.)

This year, I'm not exchanging with as many people as in previous years; one of my friends asked us to donate money to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina in lieu of gifts (a splendid idea, I thought, even though I felt a pang 'cause she gets me good gifts), and I've decided to try to spend time and money by getting together with my girlfriends rather than spending solitary time and my money hunting down a present for them.

So the holiday season, festive gatherings, and presents have been on my mind. Which recalled memories of the Worst Presents Ever. When I was growing up, my paternal grandfather and his second wife (who was his secretary for twenty-odd years, I believe, although if you'd seen her you'd know there was nothing going on prior to my grandmother's death) would send me gifts that were wildly wrong for me.

How could they know? They didn't get together with our family much (can you say family money? ill will? reneging on Catholic upbringing?), so they didn't realize a peach poofy-sleeved sweater would make a five foot tall, 160-pound girl look like a meringue. They also used to send a gift package from Hickory Farms to us, which couldn't have been cheap, but was definitely awful. My dad and I usually dove into it with glee, made more gleeful by just how ridiculous the gift was.

Much earlier than that, my step grandmother made a lamp from one of those ceramic molds, a fisherman standing next to a wooden barrel or something, wearing one of those fisherman slickers. The best part was she said she thought it matched my mother's decor, which was, no lie, made up of stuff my mother had picked off the streets the night before trash pick-up. We named the fisherman "Peregrine" after the hero of Barbara Cartland's Penniless Peer.

Another memorable gift was when the boyfriend (now ex-, but not because of this) bought me a marble pastry board and rolling pin. I cut him some slack, he was Jewish, so he didn't have much experience with Christmas gifts.

Or--and at this point, I would ask you to look at my photo, right over there--the good friend who bought me a fancy contact lens case. Granted, I used to wear contacts from the time I was 13 until I was about 32 (and wasn't that an adjustment when I had to wear glasses all the time. Curse you, allergic reaction!), but this was several years after that, and this person is a good friend. Still is, despite the gift.
So--what was your worst gift? And don't worry, I'll be asking about the best gifts later. I just like to vent first, laud later.

Thanks for re-gifting,

Megan

Born For Sin? Or just giving him an eyeful? 

Duh, here's Bedeviled. Picasa's Hello likes me a smidge better than Blogger does, but not much. 

Bedeviled! Death Wish! 

Sick Day

We're having a sick day today. The six year-old constantly rails at me for not letting him stay home more often, even though other kids do ("I'm not their mother," I reply. Logic, in this case, is not a compelling argument). So probably not too many revisions today. I did a good amount last night, and it's going well, but I can't shake the feeling it's stinky. I do recognize I'm tired (spent the night in Mr. Coughy's bed, sleeping on a pillow shaped like Saturn), and probably don't have the best perspective, but I just can't see why anyone would want to read this thing. Blecch.

Last night, the Gourmet Husband and I had a spirited discussion about whether or not I should put butter beans into my slow-cooker chili. After much mocking, it was decided I should not. So no chili tonight.

The bright part of the day is checking out the disc I just received from bookscans.com. I love pulp fiction, and this disc has literally thousands of covers from vintage paperbacks. I wish I could upload some, but I have proven incapable of doing so. After many attempts. And several lost posts. My favorite is the top blurb for Death Wish, which reads: "So Lovely. So Evil. So Dead."

Happy Tuesday!

Megan

A disclaimer: I don't normally post anything political here; you can probably figure out how I feel, I think I've mentioned it in passing a few times, but I don't feel it's appropriate for me to disseminate my views. I don't feel well-informed enough, despite the Current Affairs Husband keeping NPR on all our radios anytime he's in the house. But I was at the gym today, listening to Stevie, and his words struck me, as they usually do. And since my day is otherwise fairly blandly crappy, I thought I'd share. Ignore if you want, and return later for my normal meanderings.

"You Haven't Done Nothing"*
by Stevie Wonder (who seems to be my personal political commentator these days. Too bad he wrote these songs 30 years ago.)

We are amazed but not amused
By all the things you say that you'll do
Though much concerned but not involved
With decisions that are made by you

But we are sick and tired of hearing your song
Telling how you are gonna change right from wrong
'Cause if you really want to hear our views
"You haven't done nothing"! **

It's not too cool to be ridiculed
But you brought this upon yourself
The world is tired of pacifiers
We want the truth and nothing else

And we are sick and tired of hearing your song
Telling how you are gonna change right from wrong
'Cause if you really want to hear our views
"You haven't done nothing"!

We would not care to wake up to the nightmare
That's becoming real life
But when mislead who knows a person's mind
Can turn as cold as ice un hum

Why do you keep on making us hear your song
Telling us how you are changing right from wrong
'Cause if you really want to hear our views
"You haven't done nothing"!

*Except involve our country in a war that costs lives. Not to mention money, self-respect, and the respect of others.
**And so far, the democratic leadership has been lame. At least any poor p.r. can be put squarely on this administration's shoulders, since the opposing party has been completely ineffectual.

Megan

Detritus Day, Vol. 2

No, I've never seen anything quite as cute either. Yes, I am biased.

Yes, it's a Special Pre-Holiday Edition of Detritus Day!

1. If it's fewer than 40 degrees out, and you're not wearing a hat, I officially think you're an idiot. I don't care how nice your hair looks.

2. You will slay me (dead! I'm dead!) if you place an ornament gently on the tree, then turn and smile at me.

3. The oatmeal cookie recipe on the top of Quaker Oats big container of oatmeal is really good. Especially when one (and when I say one, I mean a six year-old) places chocolate chips on top.

4. Cheese is my friend.

5. Don't get me anything I have to find room for.

6. Preferably get me a good samosa recipe (and I know some of you might be able to supply it), and the ability to ignore the massive guilt I feel when I eat a fried something.

7. No, you can't have too many pink holiday shirts from Target.

8. Atheists do love Christmas. Especially when it's that 'peace on earth, good will towards men' stuff.

9. Books. Books are good, even if I do have to find somewhere to put them.

10. Especially books found on my Amazon wish list.

11. That are rare.

12. And by Mary Balogh.

13. Weekdays are for diet and exercise; the weekends, not so much.

14. Guilt should not be allowed during December. It's not like one (and when I say one, I mean a forty-one year-old panicky gal) is going to blow up into a house. Just keep wearing the tight jeans, and you'll be fine. Just no muffin-top, please.

15. Jewelry's good, too, even if the only place one (the latter aforementioned one) has to wear it is to pick the one (former aforementioned one) up from school.

16. Forced socialization is good for the confirmed introvert. Even if it hurts afterward.

17. Did you know 17 x 3 equals 51? I love that.

18. Coffee is not just necessary in December, it's essential.

19. Did I mention the hat thing? Because people who don't wear hats when it's cold really piss me off. YOUR BRAIN IS FREEZING! No wonder you're too dumb to wear a hat!

Thanks for stopping by,

Megan

Another Saturday Night...

...and I ain't got nobody!* At least, not right now; the Helpful Husband took the son for a day of fun while I attended my writers' Christmas party (fun, very good food, some good wine, me actually talking to people). Now I'm home, all fired up to do Something Really Important and Writing-Related, but the HH and S will be home soon, I've had far too many cocktails, and besides which, it's Saturday night. No revising tonight.

Tomorrow, brunch with the Greco-Sicilian Doctor and tree-decorating. Monday I'll get back to revising (which, btw, is going really well--I've added 4,000 words this week, am tightening up the plot so it's not completely ludicrous, and am optimistic about making the self-imposed Dec. 31 deadline).

Anyway,

Thanks for dropping by,

Megan
*Sam Cooke--dishy, dreamy voice, tragic death; not nearly enough play given to him in the modern pop vernacular. What's up with that?
**And Darcy's just 'cause he's such a hottie.

1. The SoundBite Husband is quoted as an authority in this AP piece on Christmas music. Check it out, marvel at just how many discs we own (I think it's closer to 300, but what do I know, I just ALPHABETIZE THEM ALL).

2. I'm waxing rhapsodic about a prolific white guy over at the Risky Regencies place today. Click on over, say hi.

3. Tomorrow? Writers' party (wherein introverts attempt to be social), tree decorating, maybe a little wine-drinking. Bliss.

Thanks for visiting and clicking through,

Megan

December 1

Today is World AIDS Day, and a time to remember that people are still dying from the disease.

My uncle Paul, my father's brother, died almost 20 years ago from AIDS. Paul received degrees from Brown, Yale, and Harvard, and I have no doubt he would have gotten recognition from the remaining four of the Ivy League if he had lived that long. Like my father, he was brilliant, a PhD. in intellectual history, specializing in Hegel. He was also beset by mental illness, and at the time of his death, had been supported by my father in every way possible for a few years. Paul and I did not get along, and in fact, I moved out briefly to my mother's house when living at my own house was too hard to handle. At the time, I didn't realize my father had no choice: if Paul didn't live with us, he'd be on the street, and there were no social services to help him. It was that simple. The ironic thing is that, with all his other problems, my dad and I didn't realize he was ill. Paul had always had bizarre eating and living habits, and we didn't realize the changes we saw (or didn't see) in him were due to something besides his lifestyle.

A few months before he died, Paul moved out to California to try to make a new start. My aunt, his youngest sister, knew as soon as he got off the plane he was sick. I talked to him once after that, just to make some sort of peace with him, and I'm guessing it made me feel better than it did him, but I knew I would hate myself if I didn't make the effort. I'm really glad I did.

Anyway. Paul had a difficult life. We'll never know if he could have kicked some of his problems, because AIDS cut his life short. I'm very grateful he had a brother like my father, who at least kept him housed and supplied with diet Pepsi. Thanks, Dad.

So today I'm remembering Paul, and wishing he were here to argue with.

Megan