1. Thanks to everyone for the kind words about my Cosmogirl.com essay. (If you missed it, check it out here. ) I have to say, I really liked being able to write something about ALL my books (and boys) at once. I know as novels they stand apart, and that’s the way I want it, except for a little co-mingling of cameo appearances and locations. But in my mind, my characters are all this big, rowdy group that sort of trails along behind me, inserting commentary as they see fit. I feel like once I create a character, they are always with me, whether they’re big (like Dexter, who makes me giddy) or small (like Boo and Stewart in Dreamland, who I want to be just like when I Grow Up). Writing can be pretty solitary (except for Twitter and Facebook and this blog, of course) so I guess having imaginary friends is necessary. When you’re in a room staring at a screen for several hours every day, alone, you need to talk to SOMEONE. I am lucky I have created such good listeners.
2. In other news, I’m looking for Gabe. Who is Gabe, you ask? Well. Gabe is the little man who drives my daughter’s toy Jeep, and he is missing. Now, I have a reputation as the person in this house who can Find Anything. I’ve earned this title through feats that are so impressive they are practically miracles, eliciting awe from everyone around me. (Okay, that might just be how it felt for ME. But I digress.) I have located missing toys, and blankets. Scraps of paper with very important phone numbers. Bills and letters from years past, favorite pieces of clothing, you name it. But Gabe, for some reason, is eluding me. I have looked in every toy bin. Taken the couch apart. Busted out the flashlight to shine behind each corner, in every crevice. No Gabe. My daughter has faith in me, though, telling the sitters, “Mama will find him!” So the pressure is on. I am thinking about Gabe a lot, more than I should. This usually means there are other things in my life that I also can’t control, and I think I have a better shot of tracking him down than, say, knowing how my new book will be reviewed. So I keep looking, opening drawers, moving dollhouse furniture around. Gabe? GABE! Sigh….
3. If my Real Housewives obsession was not out of hand enough (and believe me, it is) this I discovered I can follow some of the Housewives on Twitter. Oh, dear. This will NOT be good for my writing. I mean, how am I supposed to start another book when Lisa Vanderpump is Tweeting about her little dog? Or Kyle Richards about her favorite breakfast cereal? I thought the internet in general was a time suck, but Twitter clearly has the power to bring down entire civilizations. More and more I am thinking I need to disconnect entirely in order to get any work done. But then how will I know what cute thing Bethenney Frankel’s daughter did today? Dilemma….
4. What’s even worse about my Housewives obsession is that I can’t talk to anyone about it, as barely any of my friends watch it (or will admit to it, anyway) and my husband, who is very tolerant of just about every other bit of nonsense I enjoy, will not allow it on in his presence. So I’m kind of all alone out there with my sick little addiction. You know what is hilarious, though? My brother, who does not have a TV, watches Bravo at the gym. (Yes, you read that right. MY BROTHER, close blood relation, does not have a television. I’ll give you a moment to process that. Done? Okay.) Can you imagine, if you watch no other TV but Bravo reality shows, what you must think about TV in general? It’s like those foreign countries that draw all they know about the US from Baywatch. Also: my brother has watched Kendra AND Basketball Wives. I don’t even watch those shows! Maybe we’re more alike than I thought. Honestly, I can’t even picture him watching NeNe and Kim argue, although he says he does. After all, this is the same person who, on the Jurassic Park ride at Universal Studios, looked at me and said, “So this was a movie about dinosaurs, right?” Sigh. Of course, I know nothing about interpretive Jazz, about which he is an expert. So I guess we’re even. Sort of.
5. Finally, this weekend is the Superbowl, and you know what that means: food. Oh, and football. Okay, I’ll admit, football is not my sport. The Superbowl is really the only game I watch all year, and then just so I can justify eating everything I prepared for it. This year, I am thinking about making this Shrimp Ball recipe I saw on Worst Cooks In America. (I mean, it’s not Worst Recipes in America, right?) My husband is arguing that you cannot do shrimp balls for a football game. We need chips and cheese and beer and brats and more beer and French onion dip. Oh, and wings. I am thinking I will make some pigs in a blanket just to placate him, then sneak my shrimp balls out when he’s caught up in a bad call or something. Marriage: it’s about compromise. And distractions….
Okay. Time to look for Gabe again. Have a good weekend, everyone!