**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'.