Wednesday, September 17, 2008

This post blows...I think

**WARNING: I just reread this post and found it kind of boring. But really I can't tell. I could be judging it too harshly because I'm in editing mode. My mind is exhausted from editing and rewriting the manuscript. And now to our regularly scheduled blog.**

I'm a bit rusty getting back to this whole blog thing. I was in Forth Worth for a week and then Disney World, and I've been editing the book when I've had any spare writing time. This also accounts for my absences on fyspace and macebook (you like that? I just made that shit up...Yes, did I mention VERY rusty?) So there's a lot to talk about here, and I just have to pick a subject. Hmm, maybe I'll do a brief overview and then tell you guys about my writing class that started on Monday.



Fort Worth: Spent a week catching up with Uncle Chris and Amy at their bitchin' place. Found out that house was fine, but had no electricity.



Day trip home: Drove from Fort Worth to powerless home in one day. Spent the evening cleaning out rotten refrigerator, slept in the humidity, and left the next morning for Disney World.



7 days in Disney World: God, I love that place. You would think I wouldn't given all my hippie tendencies, but the rides are fun, the food is good, and the people there are paid to be nice. Yeah I know, it's an evil conglomerate something or other but I've always been drawn to evil.



So now that I'm home real life has begun again. The kids are back in school, I've started back at yoga and Al-anon, and Chris has gone out of town again. The new element in my life is James Nolan's advanced writing class. I took his writing workshop last spring, and am now in the class where we take our red marked manuscripts to the next level - more rewriting! I'm one of ten people in class, and there are only two other writers I know from the spring. One of the new people turned out to be someone that I know from Al-anon. She's middle aged, taller than me, French, and cool as hell. I wish I could tell you her real name because it rocks ass, but in honor of anonymity she will be known as Daisy Duck.

One of the main differences between this class and the last one is that it's not held at Loyola University. We'll each take a turn hosting the writing group at our houses. Or their houses, I should say. James stipulated that you have to live in New Orleans itself, and I am a lowly Lulingite. Preferably you have to live somewhere that James can get to by streetcar because he doesn't drive. You have no idea how much I envy that.

Actually, if envy is indeed a sin then I could go to hell for how much I want this guy's life. He lives in a nifty apartment in the French Quarter, he sustains himself by teaching writing workshops and publishing essays, short stories and books, and though he doesn't drive he travels worldwide. I don't mean to say I would give up my family to opt for that lifestyle now, but had I stayed single I could see myself living that life. And probably being miserable most of the time because I would want a companion and babies. Alas.

Annnnyway, for our first class on Monday James told me and the two other newbies that we were required to bring a bottle of wine as a rite of initiation. So I found it ironic that when I saw Daisy get out of her car in front of James's apartment, I had a bottle of Pinot Noir in my backpack. Every other time I've seen her we've talked about how alchohol has complicated our lives, and here I was carrying the bastard into a writing class. We hugged and talked about how coincidental it was that we were both writers, and poured each other glasses of wine once we got to James's apartment.

Her writing is beautiful. I was glad about that because it's awkward when I like someone personally but not their writing. Once again I'm the youngest person in class, which always feels kind of cool but kind of disappointing. I'm going to concentrate on my personal essays because I'd really like to develop them.

And one last exciting bit of news is that I am sending my manuscript to The Joy Harris Agency today. I wrote in an e-mail to some of my friends, "these are the blessed people who liked the first 50 pages" and Fred wrote back "I think what you meant to say was these are the blessed people, the literate few, men and women of impeccable taste and subtle wit who, in their long wisdom and excellent judgement, recognized the seeds of genius in my pimum opus." Bitchin'.

10 comments:

biggearhead said...

I feel like an idiot for not knowing what a pimum opus is, I feel guilt for skipping my writing group last night, and oh, hell, I don't know what else.

Genevieve said...

If it makes you feel any better I don't know what pimum means either. Fred is the king of saying words that I have to look up while we talk. Opus, however, is a comic strip character. That I know!

You skipped your writing group?! Nooooooooo! (I'm slightly melodramatic this morning) As long as you've been writing it's ok. And morning pages count so you're good.

christina said...

Wow, Fred said that? Who knew he could talk so perty?

He probably meant "primum." (I can't stop myself-- I have to correct him!)

Opus rocks.

christina said...

You should google "pimum opus."

Genevieve said...

By george I think the English teacher is right! Christina, I googled "primum" and I think that is indeed the word Fred meant to type. One of the definitions I found was "primum mobile," which read thusly, "The tenth and outermost concentric sphere of the universe thought in Ptolemaic astronomy to revolve around the earth from east to west in 24 hours and believed to cause the other nine spheres to revolve with it."

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude! Far out. Then I googled "pimum" and weird stuff popped up in a different language BUT further down the list of places it appeared on the web was my blog! Is it pathetic that I find that exciting? When I google my name nothing that interesting pops up.

Wait a minute! I just googled my name! My blog pops up! It didn't before. As of a couple of weeks ago I was only associated with Fire District 12 stuff. (yes, sometimes I google my name just to see if ANYTHING that I've had published has the decency to share it with the world) That is the primum opus of my whole morning!...Oh, if Fred only knew what he started with the omission of one letter. I'm going to use pimum constantly.

christina said...

Um, actually, that was me, Christy not-the-English teacher, not Christina the English teacher. You see, we have the same name.

Genevieve said...

Ah (twindles thumbs nervously). Yes, of course you are. I know the difference between my Christina's. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Christina wife of Fred, not to be confused with Christina wife of Ray. But especially not to be confused by their husbands. That would be funny. Ray would call up Fred and say, "Excuse me, I found a Christina in the house, but I think she's yours." Fred would say, "Hold on, let me check [sound of setting down the receiver and footsteps leaving the room - then coming back]. Yes, and yours is here. She's standing in the front room with a flute in her hand saying, 'But, but...I'm a vocalist! Aren't I??"


I'm in a bizarre mood.

christina said...

Christina, wife of Fred. Somehow the entire women's lib movement disappeared in one quick blog comment. Do I have to start introducing myself as "Mrs. Fred Wild?" Oh no, I can't take it! Help! Help!

Genevieve said...

I think you should introduce Fred as Mr. Christy Wild.

christina said...

I like that!