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.

Biiiiig difference between writing fiction and writing non-fiction. I'm married to an alpha-geek who is also Head of Tech Pubs for a high-tech company; I also did rather a lot of legal writing, back in the eighties.

This is way more fun. And incredibly frustrating.

One way or another, this looks like the two-book deal, that is, the series commitment I primarily wanted. So I'm just going to chill and see what Jenn and Ruth hammer out.

Eating a TV dinner; there goes my cred.

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

Oh, and it's not like I borrowed anything from my actual marriage, especially not the way at least half our fights are when we're on the way to somewhere, and then we have to somehow get through the party/day at work/church service as if there's nothing wrong.

t whistles innocently

Eating a TV dinner; there goes my cred.

Oh, come on. You know Gordon Ramsey goes down the chippies every now and then.

And Jamie Oliver is all about odd fast food. In fact, he makes some of the oddest fast food ever.

This one's a Mexican thing, with chicken, and many beans. It's actually reasonably edible.

You know, this waiting for permission to use the cover of "Weaver" on anything othe than postcards strikes me as demented.

Me too...kind of like if my mom wants to go back to her birth name she has to pay. It's hers.

I mean, the cover's not mine, in that I didn't design and don't own it. But this is to promote the book and make them money.

Weirdassed industry.

Kenny loves Jamie Oliver's second cookbook; the third one, NSM. He's made Thai curry and fish pie, and one night during a sleepover I stumbled out and found three of them doing a classic fry-up, giggling and arguing about the tomatoes.

DH, OTOH, is perfectly capable of ruining frozen pizza.

Wanna see the cover!

Amy, you haven't seen it?

Here:

[link]

It's gorgeous. All I need is permission from Marina Druckman in St Martins art department, and it's everywhere.