Deb, insent with long overdue beta.

Btw, evidently I lied. I'm not so much dark grey as off white.

Heh. Kristin, received and backsent.

For those who read "Matty Groves" in beta, you will be pleased at the events referenced on page one of chapter one of "Cruel Sister".

A slightly different meaning of "first impression." Painful, to me, anyway.

Someone Else's Bed

In the darkness, moonrise tickling the edges of this room with pearl, I try to sort out my thoughts, feelings, senses.

You're sleeping, smiling into the night. We've just made love for the first time, my instigation, a demand really. The universe seems to be our sanctuary.

You aren't mine, you probably never will be; I know this. Yet I turn my head on the pillow and think, tonight this place is mine, this man, this bed.

All lies. This is Dolly's bed. That tonight I've left the impression of my body in it for the first time, gives me nothing.

The first thing I think is "annoying". Too perky. Her classroom is probably filled with apple paraphernalia. I resent the way she bubbles into my space and wins my mother’s heart immediately with her cheerful greeting and insistence on giving me her number, printed perfectly on “Teaching Touches Lives” notepaper.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you!” she chirps on her way back out into locker-filled hallways. I make a note to avoid her at faculty meetings.

How could I have known, seven years later, that the saddest day of my career would be learning she wasn’t coming back?

Deb, insent, but no rush at all.

Right now I'm working on the Lucy rewrite out of sheer stubborness and desire to have it done so I can get back to Anna with a clear conscience. I really don't care if it sucks, because I'm 99% certain the editor who has the partial won't request the full, and I'm OK with that. (For now. If she sends me a form or otherwise harsh rejection, I can't promise to remain OK.) I just want it done.

Will crosspost to Bitches.

OK, just back from the afternoon literary festival, and it basically turned into the Ayelet Waldman/Deborah Grabien Comedy Hour. DAMN, we had fun. I have been raffled off to something called the South Bay Writers Club, for an evening of conversation.

I am chuffed as all hell, because Ayelet - former federal public defender, not a shy bone in her body - asked if I was planning on making any of my ginger cake any time soon. Sure, I said, do you want some? Yes please - last year, we waited until the kids were asleep and opened the package and then Michael took a sniff and pushed me out of the way and locked himself in the bathroom with it. So, maybe two....?

Me. So, you're saying my ginger cake brings Michael Chabon to the yard?

Mrs. Chabon: Screw that, I'm saying it brings ME to the yard.

A very nice afternoon.

Wow, Deb. Sounds like you had one helluva weekend.

Ha, ha...Michael Chabon wants Deb's goodies. (Munchly smirk) If you didn't know his wife, you could brag about being eaten by Chabon. (When GWW gets Bitchy, film at 11.)

Kristin, if you ever get the chance to hear Ayelet lecture or read, run don't walk. She is insanely funny, sharp as one of Sweeny Todd's razors, and you will be able to look her in the eye. Five feet tall exactly.

The panel segment was a blast. Julie Orringer and I got to trade really bad poetry back and forth, and had the fifty or so people at the event howling.

But I have a request for ginger cake, and knowing that Mister Pulitzer - I'm still waiting for the day I slip and call him that, hopefully not to his face - wants it specifically? I am sooooooo gonna be baking.

I've got Save Firefly ready for beta, if anyone can stomach it. It's heftier coming in at over 5000 words, I usually only send out shorter stuff.