Almost EVERYTHING right now is about waiting–waiting for people to call or email me back, waiting for editors to read my submissions, waiting while the Champion Agent preps new stuff to send out, waiting until Knicks season starts, which means more open time at night for me.

So I got nothing for here. NOTHING, I say!

Sorry. I feel so incredibly–waiting. All I need is an ancient copy of Woman’s Day, and I’ll be transported to some doctor’s waiting room.

Visit Marianne Mancusi and Liz Maverick to see me in pure idiocy. And to see very nice pix of MM, LM, EKM and Leanna, whose birthday we were celebrating.

I don’t feel so bad anymore, though, ’cause of your nice comments, and the ebbing of time (Cindy, the story about your friend asking for more is just mind-boggling. WTF? I don’t think I’ve ever been so rude).

I sent my agent the partial of Road to Desire/On Bold Adventure on Sunday; we’ll see what she says. It’s much more traditional romance-y than That Subtle Knot/Road to Passion, but it’s still edgy.

I started reading Lover Enshrined yesterday. Already love it, already have rolled my eyes in several places. Isn’t that what a guilty pleasure is all about?

Tonight I sent an email query to an agent who expressed enthusiasm for my work last time around. Next week, I send hard paper copies to the two agents who were equally (although can I say equally? Maybe they were just being polite? Or admired my clever use of commas?) interested.

Then I wait and if I bit my nails, I would be biting them. Hopefully I will not be biting an entire wheel of Brie, because that’s more my steez.

. . . Makes Me Really Sweaty.

There’s a writing theory that says you should figure out what your hero and heroine absolutely, positively would not do, and write a plausible reason for them to do it.

Me, I’m going to be presenting a workshop in public at a writing conference. The New England Conference next Spring. And, if we are approved, I’ll be presenting three additional workshops, two at National, one at the Beau Monde Conference. There I’ll have friends accompanying me, so it won’t be so terrifying. As terrifying.

I did conference planning for years so I wouldn’t have to do anything more than introduce people at panels. I get terrified (and really sweaty) at the thought of being around more than a few people (hence the occasional drunken lapse, which I attribute to a) nerves b) low tolerance and c) I like the way alcohol tastes).

What would make you do what you never, ever would? Like, say, delurk at some neurotic author’s blog?

Dear Writer’s Diary,

Yesterday was a doozy (fyi, did you know ‘doozy’ comes from ‘daisy,’ not originally from the Duesenberg automobile, although that car’s fabulousness added to the word’s luster? Sure you did).

I did laundry, wrestled with real estate mishegas (Yiddish word for craziness; I have been channeling my Inner Jew with all this mess. Just don’t get me started on ‘fakakt,’ although I have no idea how to spell it), wrote a smidge, starting reading Dead Beat by Jim Butcher (LOVE IT!), worked out, then had an actual outside-of-the-house DATE with my husband. Sushi and chocolate. Can’t beat it with a stick.

I am already missing the Picky Vegetarian, who leaves Portland, OR, to head to Laos and Cambodia by way of Hong Kong.

My agent has promised to send out the pitch letter for Lessons In Love next week; then I get to be on all kinds of tenterhooks (btw, I wanted to find the definition of tenterhooks, and here’s what I got: “one of the hooks or bent nails that hold cloth stretched on a tenter.” Big help, thanks).

My son returns from his Dote Week down in South Jersey today; I cannot wait to hug him.

I would write to you about how I feel fat, scared, confident, insecure, nervous, smart, and ochlophobic (afraid of crowds), but I pretty much do that in my regular posts.

Love,

Megan

A very brief post to say the agent is preparing the pitch letter for Lessons In Love. Which means sending to editors is not far behind. Honestly, all I want is for someone to read my stuff who might give me money, and not just my parents. Or my friends if I shut up.

So even if I get a round of rejections, at least I’ll know steps were taken.

More excruciatingly mindlessly-detailed updates later–

Megan