Deena, you can be my daughter, but Nic belongs to Deb. Sorry.

When BF was an agent the gifts he liked best were luxurious versions of essentials. Like a soft leather-bound photo album, or a gorgeous artist-made tiny basket to hang out on his desk and hold whatever, or a cool set of colored pencils in a wooden box. Stuff one would love to have , but not buy for themselves. His partner (a female) also really dug these things, so it wasn't a guy thing, BTW.

Marty, actually, I didn't want Nic, didn't even think of that. I was imagining you being my husband Greg's mom. He's a nice guy; you'd like him. I could definitely stand to be your daughter though.

Deb, I e-mailed you some thoughts about the book...nothing too profound or anything.

Backsent, erika - a nice way to wake up. And I agree with you about police procedurals - although they're probably at the bottom of my mystery reading choice list, since I like the personality and psychological ones that focus on people, not forensics. If they're done right, they're great, but I hate laundry lists.

I just pounded out a rough draft of a submission for my alumni magazine. It's rough and needs a good 600 words cut, and I've posted it friends-locked in my LiveJournal for comment, since I'm still paranoid about posting full drafts of anything in a public forum.

Oy. Writing groups. A few months ago, when I was all morning-sick and not going very often, there was a kerfluffle between two of our members--the details are convoluted enough to be plot points for a bad soap opera, but what ultimately fell out was that neither came anymore, and I think there was even some group discussion, which V was privy to, saying that V wouldn't come back. So we ended up with a cozy, friendly group of five, one that's even become helpful to me once I asked for somewhat stronger critique. It's still not my ideal, and I'd loved to find an all-romance or all-historical fiction of any genre group, with a closer match in writing skills, but it's a pleasant and inspiring way to spend a Monday night.

So tonight, out of the blue, V comes back. And it threw off the chemistry terribly. And I hate to be all in-group and shunny, but I'd really like to stay just the five of us. Because, the thing is, V's stories drive me crazy--they're dark and inevitable, and not in a Shakespearean or Jossian way that sends chills down your spine. No, it's just endless end games of people who've fucked up their lives slowly dying in modern squalor. They're both depressing and boring, and that's a lethal combination.

Anyway, I'm just venting, and wondering if it's terrible to want my writing group to be a bit of an exclusive club.

Susan, I just had to tell a very sweet man without the smallest inkling about how to write a novel that he simply wasn't ready for a writing group. And we are enjoying our chemistry (although we miss our original seventh rather intensely).

Sometimes you just have to say something.

Plei, Bev - insent to you both. There are typos in the last ten pages or so. Sorry about that....

Sometimes you just have to say something.

I probably will. I feel a "how to do this nicely" email to J coming on, since she's turned into the impromptu leader of the group by virtue of being the most naturally outspoken of us all.

Because if I have to read another story about an aging washed-up rock star drinking himself to death and reflecting on how it was all inevitable because of Insert Parental Unit Here, I'm going to scream.

Someone should point out that Richard Burton is dead and Elizabeth Taylor is blonde now and "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" has already been filmed to perfection, thank you very much.