I was just editing the scene where James and Lucy have a stupid quarrel, largely because James comes home from a long day of travel utterly exhausted, and Lucy is busy getting ready for a party instead of fulfilling the welcoming wife by the fireside role he'd envisioned, since after all she wasn't expecting him home for another two days. So they bicker, bicker, and bicker some more.

DH comes home, meanwhile, having wrestled several examples of stupid Seattle drivers, one of which led to a near wreck, and feeling utterly overworked and frustrated after a long day. I noticed, but was torn between offering comfort and getting to a stopping point in my editing.

We bickered, bickered, and bickered some more, but ended up laughing about it, and he's now helping me cook dinner, since he's teaching me to not overcook meat.

I like real marriages, don't you? In fact and fiction? Such fun.

You mean, you don't just drop everything to chop veggies? Television lied? Well, damn.

"Choppin' BRAH-CO-LEEEEEEEEE!"

(one of Dana carvey's finer moments)

Oh, thank dog, other married people were bickering tonight. I wonder if I can blame sunspots, or if it's just us being people?

Hi, I'm amyparker and I've only come in to wish Deb (and through her, her agent) luck in negotiating the contract: we did the "earn back your advance first, geek boy" routine on DH's last two books, and 'twas a pain in the nether parts.

(one of Dana carvey's finer moments)

Love Dana. Both his 41 and his 43 are priceless.

amy! (smooching madly towards Utah)

I don't object to earning back the advance first; I do object to having "Famous Flower" placed in the position of having to earn back the advance for a book that won't be released for a year after it.

Basically, under the current math, "Famous Flower" would have to sell six thousand copies to clear a $12K advance. The initial print run in hardback is only 4000 books.

No. Even I can do that math: the language translates to "setting it up to fail".

Though I like Ferrell's 43 better.

Hey Sean!

I tell you what, I am loving my good buddy Marlene the Agent. She's been soothing me all day; she has to get sick and tired of my snarling, especially since she's just had two people close to her second daughter die unexpectedly (L's flute teacher has been in denial, apparently, and was rushed to the hospital by his 93-year-old grandmother, where they discovered advanced testicular cancer, stage 4, spread to spine and other places - the thing was the size of a softball and he must have know, and never even made a doctor's appointment. Then a kid across the hall or nearby at L's small music college hung himself.

And here's Marlene, being all rah-rah! and very explicit about my book deal shit, and listening to me kvetch and moan.

We go back a little more than 30 years together. It's a good thing.

"It's nakey time! Ping!"

(smooching back at Deb)

(smooching at Sean, so that he doesn't feel left out)

Publishers make me pound my head on DH's behalf. The current amusement: he and his co-author want to update the last book. Problem: DH is employed by the company that writes the software the book concerns, and teaches classes for said company on the subject. Conflict of interest. DH says "Fine, I won't write anything new; I'll just do a tech edit." No good -- co-author is too sensible to try and winnow out everything that DH wrote, the company is making squeaky noises, and DH has finally thrown his hands in the air and told Legal to have a party and let him know what they decide.

This is why I don't write. Well, that and the total lack of discipline.