Before the makeup
I realize we may not have known each other “long enough” to merit this ... but there comes a stage in every relationship where all that makes the other person sexy goes away for a spell and you’re left with just him or her. It’s like that MTV “Unplugged” series, except less commercially successful. ;)
And so for today’s teaser (which really should be followed by an entry), Anna Unfunny.
You see, there’s a reason (well, actually, a few) why I’ve been such a flake lately. And it’s not ’cause I’m getting past the new-blogger honeymoon. It’s more like the unemployment honeymoon has ended — which is to say, the checks. They’re all paid out. And since I’m still making up my mind whether to move to the West Coast later this year, that leaves me scrambling to get by with temp or freelance work. And since this blog neither pays nor is a communique I’m willing to profane with Google ads (at least so far) ... I’m afraid juggling the bills comes before blogging sometimes. Which, for a klutz like me, is, well ... you can imagine.
So let’s see: where am I in this sob story? Oh yes: Part 1, life without money. Part 2 might be called foolish ambition. Namely that, last Friday, I met with a literary agent about whether or not this blog could be turned into a book. I know, I know, that may be narcissistic hubrous ... but what can I say? I had a chance to meet him, and I took it.
Not that it proved very helpful. Apparently though I am getting on to my 30s, I should nonetheless switch over to that well-trod path whereby 99.5% of all published authors make their start: as an editorial assistant at Conde Nast!!! Whew, I can smell the nail polish from here. But as that’s not my favorite scent, I’ve decided to fight it out with all the others trying to squeeze into the .5% who publish books without the folks at Conde (said like the media’s fave nickname for our new Sec. of State).
Finally, Part 3 in tragic, excuse-filled teaser: death and the maiden. In two senses. First off, for some time now major changes have been quietly rumbling along in my perspective on relationships (and you thought that was just a train going by underground!). If I ever chug my way through the rest of Stages of Broadway all that rumbling will be deciphered. But as I’m also coping with yesterday’s news of a death affecting someone close to me, this blog is chugging along like that A-train after that fire started in a control room.
But enough of the pathos. I don’t do it well, do I? So with that conceded, I’m off for the morning latte, which will hopefully re-calcify my funny bone enough to finish Stages of Broadway, pt. 3!!!!!!! Meanwhile, don’t forget we still have a contest to enter this month.
xoxoxo ...
And so for today’s teaser (which really should be followed by an entry), Anna Unfunny.
You see, there’s a reason (well, actually, a few) why I’ve been such a flake lately. And it’s not ’cause I’m getting past the new-blogger honeymoon. It’s more like the unemployment honeymoon has ended — which is to say, the checks. They’re all paid out. And since I’m still making up my mind whether to move to the West Coast later this year, that leaves me scrambling to get by with temp or freelance work. And since this blog neither pays nor is a communique I’m willing to profane with Google ads (at least so far) ... I’m afraid juggling the bills comes before blogging sometimes. Which, for a klutz like me, is, well ... you can imagine.
So let’s see: where am I in this sob story? Oh yes: Part 1, life without money. Part 2 might be called foolish ambition. Namely that, last Friday, I met with a literary agent about whether or not this blog could be turned into a book. I know, I know, that may be narcissistic hubrous ... but what can I say? I had a chance to meet him, and I took it.
Not that it proved very helpful. Apparently though I am getting on to my 30s, I should nonetheless switch over to that well-trod path whereby 99.5% of all published authors make their start: as an editorial assistant at Conde Nast!!! Whew, I can smell the nail polish from here. But as that’s not my favorite scent, I’ve decided to fight it out with all the others trying to squeeze into the .5% who publish books without the folks at Conde (said like the media’s fave nickname for our new Sec. of State).
Finally, Part 3 in tragic, excuse-filled teaser: death and the maiden. In two senses. First off, for some time now major changes have been quietly rumbling along in my perspective on relationships (and you thought that was just a train going by underground!). If I ever chug my way through the rest of Stages of Broadway all that rumbling will be deciphered. But as I’m also coping with yesterday’s news of a death affecting someone close to me, this blog is chugging along like that A-train after that fire started in a control room.
But enough of the pathos. I don’t do it well, do I? So with that conceded, I’m off for the morning latte, which will hopefully re-calcify my funny bone enough to finish Stages of Broadway, pt. 3!!!!!!! Meanwhile, don’t forget we still have a contest to enter this month.
xoxoxo ...
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