shut up and dance with me

Programming note: I intend to blog for the next few days as per usual...but there is a snowstorm bearing down upon us, and there is a chance we will lose power (perhaps for days), which may mean internet disappearance. Also, my phone is working somewhat sporadically and I may not be receiving all texts appropriately - so if you texted me since I've been in Iowa and I haven't responded, pls try again. Thank you for your understanding.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled content!

Today was quite fun, although I should have saved the title of yesterday's post for today, because 'all I really know is I don't want to know' is all too appropriate for recapping a family game of Cards Against Humanity. Uncle Mark, Aunt Kathy, and Drewbaby came down for the day, and we spent it playing games and eating leftovers (and the chili I made yesterday). First up was Balderdash, which we hadn't played in years (decades?) - it involves making up definitions for super obscure words, and then trying to guess the real definition rather than picking someone else's made-up definition instead. Unfortunately, everyone in this group is super smart (well, once we figured out that initialing our cards with 'w's didn't work in this group), so it made for a highly challenging and mentally taxing game. But it was still fun to play it, and I'm glad we dug it out of the games closet after so many years (but I may be biased, since I won both rounds - that's not even a #humblebrag, that's just a #brag).

After we tired of Balderdash, we switched to Cards Against Humanity, and we played that until it was time for the northern branch of the family to go home. As per usual, we learned far too much; it's slightly awkward to play with two sets of parents and their children, and I learned something about my physiological inheritance that should either make me feel #blessed or #nauseated (I'm going with #blessed, but others at the table may feel differently). There was also some discussion of a sex dungeon involving Barry Goldwater campaign buttons that I will never be able to bleach from my mind, but c'est la vie.

sssanyway. After the family left, I downloaded some books to my ipad in preparation for possible power outages, and I've got everything charging, etc. I also drank some tea and watched some fine CBS programming (mostly the news and its dire predictions for snow). And now, I'm going to sleep and hope that tomorrow's winter wonderland is heavy on wonder and light on winter - goodnight!

we keep this love in a photograph

I didn't get the ten hours of sleep that I hoped for last night, but it was pretty close. When I woke up, I stayed in bed for awhile daydreaming/ruminating, but I eventually dragged myself out from under the covers, took a shower, and did a few hours of work. I didn't get any writing done, but I had a lot of stuff to take care of, and I got through a decent amount.

Then I vacated the apartment and went to the Mission, where I got a haircut so that I can see again; my bangs recently surpassed super-stylish, and it was time to trim them up. Then I came home, messed around for a bit, and decided to walk downtown and go to the mall before my dinner plans.

This turned out to be a great decision (for my acquisitive heart, at least, if not my bank account). When I got there, I talked briefly to [censored] about [censored] while drinking a tea, and then I went to Nordstrom and very efficiently parted myself of some money in exchange for some goods. The first stop was the lingerie department to buy a bra for the dress I want to wear tomorrow (success, I think; well, success in the fact that I bought three, although whether any of them will work remains to be seen).

The second stop was the shoe department for a pair of suede boots that I've had my eye on for months. In a highly amusing turn of events, the guy who helped me was the guy who sold me my Jimmy Choo sandals back in March (for the charity gala I went to, although I didn't wear them because my dress selection changed). He actually remembered the Jimmy Choos, and where I previously worked, and who I was going to the gala with - all of which was astonishing, and even he seemed astonished since he claims he doesn't remember people that well. So I bought the boots from him while telling him that I now write romance novels and hate men, and we had a highly amusing fifteen minutes as a result.

Ah, memories.

Then I left the mall and met up with the original Jen Lui for drinks and dinner at Gitane. We had a lot to catch up on, so we had a drink at the bar, and then spent two hours splitting a variety of food items (we overordered, since the server told us we weren't ordering enough - she was wrong). It was great to see her, even if our conversations tend to veer toward concern/depression over getting older (as all conversations do these days, it seems).

And then we parted ways, and I started to walk home, but when I saw my first crackhead, I promptly called a lyft to take me the remaining six blocks (I wasn't feeling the crackhead scene today, since when I had been driving at noon today, one of them lurched toward my passenger door as though he was going to get in, so I had to lock my doors, which was all very bizrre). And now I need to sleep - I am running away to Healdsburg tomorrow, so I need to get up and pack and hopefully write for a couple of hours before that happens. Goodnight!

you only know you love her when you let her go

Today was better than yesterday, if only because I gave into my instincts over my sense of duty and chose to work from home. I had no good reason to work from home, other than that I didn't feel like going into the office - but I also didn't feel like going into the office because I get very little done there, and since I only had an hour of meetings today, it was like a glorious opportunity to actually get some shit done if I could stay free of distractions. So I did the things that I needed to get done today, plus some other things, and I didn't have to stress about dogs or the commute or any other office-related stuff.

And that was all enough to kind of, half-heartedly, get myself back in the game. Or at least it was enough to stop freaking out long enough to send some emails. I put my laptop aside at five and walked to the grocery store to get some milk, and then walked to a florist to buy some flowers for my desk. Then I came home, arranged said flowers, and chilled on the couch until Lauren (aka Subz) came over for dinner. Neither Terry nor I felt like cooking, so we ordered Thai food and opened a bottle of wine, and it was all perfectly lovely.

However, ironically enough, we had previously agreed to have this dinner to discuss new year's resolutions, and the very last thing I wanted to think about tonight was goals and commitments and making decisions about what I'm going to accomplish. As it turns out, I think that the crux of my recent freak-out is that I'm thrilled with what I did last year...and yet I'm totally daunted and discouraged by the idea of girding my loins and doing it all again (and with even more intensity, since I want to write three books instead of 1.5, and take on more responsibility at work, and spend more time working out, and maybe go on dates a bit more often, and and and...). So the very idea of setting goals is making my head explode.

But the conversation was still great, and Subz and Terry obviously have some rather keen insights into my psyche at this point, so it was useful even if there are currently no quick answers. And now I must sleep if I'm going to make it to my session with Alyssa tomorrow - goodnight!

i am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame

I was in a truly foul mood for most of the day, which was unfortunate; somewhere in the tangle of what I desire and what I demand of myself and what I can realistically achieve and what I actually achieve, there lurks a monster that occasionally tries to eat me. Sadly, the monster is not a raccoon, although I admit that I don't particularly want to be gnawed on by one of those either. And I know that my staggering ambition is one of my biggest strengths and one of my most fatal flaws - I would probably be a warlord if I enjoyed riding ponies across Asia, or a serial killer if I liked to collect ears. But since I'm less bloodthirsty than that, I'll have to settle for wanting to write a lot of kickass books and occasionally having dark, despairing days when it seems that the words will never come and I can't get anything done in any area of my life, save for making tea and putting on pants (towering achievements).

C'est la vie. Today got better in the end; I spent most of the day despairing and moping and trying (and failing) to get stuff done for the day job. But sometime around six, I flipped over the 15-minute timer on my desk (I just bought it at CB2 because they finally had a color other than lime green for the first time in years, and I'm in love), and I forced myself to write in my journal for the fifteen minutes that it took the sand to fall through. And I actually came to some pretty calming realizations that enabled me to pull out the cards for Thorington's book and work quietly and calmly for another hour. Then I talked to Terry, ate some peanut butter, I read all of a pretty terrible young adult fantasy novel straight through - it was probably a waste of five or six hours, since it really wasn't very good, but it did help to clear my head.

And now I'm going to go to bed to the sound of the foghorns, and hopefully wake up tomorrow with a clearer heart and the drive necessary to walk out and seek the story at a cafe or on the water. Goodnight!

gone, gone, gone

I'm tired and vaguely surly; I didn't get enough sleep last night, and I should have gone to bed an hour ago, but I made the mistake of logging into my work laptop to find something and then ended up answering email for an hour. Stupid. I am leaving for the airport in sixteen hours and I haven't packed yet, nor have I finished entering my paper edits of Alex and Prudence into my laptop so that I don't have to lug around the paper copy in addition to two laptops, a tablet, an ereader, two phones, and all the other stuff I'm taking with me.

But today was fine, albeit mildly annoying; I woke up in time to meet Kathia for an 8:45am writing date (it was supposed to be 8:30, but I was late), and I worked for a couple of hours before abandoning her. Then I grabbed a late breakfast and did some shopping on Union Street (rather unnecessarily, but I got a couple of cute dresses and some new yoga pants, all of which I look forward to wearing in Europe until I realize that even my most chic attire isn't tres chic like the Parisians). I also got a massage, which I had booked a couple of weeks ago, knowing then that I would both really need a massage today and really regret the time I needed to take to get it. My knack for finding odd massage therapists continues; this one is really good and I felt awesome after, but she did take the liberty of crawling up onto the table again and kneeling on my thighs while kneading my back. It felt good last time and it felt good this time, but today got a little weirder when she shifted forward and knelt on my ass for awhile, then later said, 'doesn't it feel good to have an open butt?' Umm. No comment?

sssanyway, beyond that little oddity, the massage was great and exactly what I needed. Then I came home, vegged out for a bit and kind of took a half-nap, then talked to [censored]. I debated for too long what to do for dinner, but I ended up running to the store and getting stuff to make chili with, which may have been a mistake since today was super hot. But I ate supper, watched some of the Stanford/Washington game, got through a bunch of stuff on my to-do list, and organized my stuff so that I can pack it tomorrow.

And now, I must sleep - perhaps I'll blog from the airport tomorrow, but if not, I'll check in when I get to Frankfurt. Goodnight!

i saw the devil wrapping up his hands

I should have gone to bed two hours ago, but I'm an idiot and stayed up putting tinsel in my hair and playing with (personal) spreadsheets. Clearly that means I'm out of words and am incapable of doing anything writing-related. It's no wonder; I got up early, did two meetings over video from home before nine a.m., and then snuck out for a glorious hour of writing over huevos rancheros before sullenly getting in my car and going into the office. To make up for my laxity, I stayed at work until 7:15, which was approximately two hours later than anyone else on my team. I grabbed supper at work, drove home, and said about three words to Terry before telling her I couldn't bear to talk and needed to go upstairs immediately.

Once upstairs, I had planned to write - but as I mentioned I'm out of words, so instead I put tinsel in my hair. Then I started playing with earnings spreadsheets for my self-pub endeavors; since all the vendors pay out on different schedules with different reports, compiling the data is a bit of a beast. But sometime in March I crossed the 20000 mark for number of books sold; granted, some of those were $0.99, but overall I'm pretty psyched that I've sold that many copies, particularly since I only have like two friends - so obviously almost all of that is made up of strangers who didn't buy a copy out of pity. Yay.

And now, after sharing too much, I shall go to sleep and hope that the commute doesn't kill me tomorrow (and that I don't kill anybody at the day job). Goodnight!

book birthday

And so, in an utterly surprising, rather anticlimactic turn of events, my latest book came out today. Color me shocked. Also, color me exhausted. My agent uploaded to Amazon and Nook this morning, and both systems have gotten faster, so they were live by noon or 2pm. Yay!!! And now begins the waiting game of seeing how it does in the rankings, and waiting for the first review, and hoping the first review isn't from someone who f'ing hates it. I'm a little nervous because I don't feel like I had enough time to promo it, and I have virtually nothing lined up...but what I do have lined up is good, so hopefully I can pull some more stuff together and go into overdrive to get people to read it.

And if nothing else, it's done. So if you were sick of hearing me bitch about Nick and Ellie, get ready for the names 'Prudence' and 'Alex' to burn themselves into your retinas - I apologize in advance for the next eight or nine months.

Anyway, I was nonstop-on today, which is probably when I'm at my happiest, so that was good. I spent the whole shuttle ride updating my website, uploading to Apple, taking care of business, etc. Then, I slogged hardcore all day; I'm done with training and starting to answer customer questions, which is actually kind of fun, even if it's something I did nine years ago and had long since graduated from. I also had lunch with Ziv, whom I managed back in the dark ages, and coffee with Alana and Joy - Alana is a longtime blog reader (yay) and Joy used to work for the big boss with me, so we all go way back. And then I caught a shuttle to the evil city, dropped my backpack off at home, took a taxi to the movie theatre, and met up with Lauren (aka Subz) to watch 'Argo'.

The movie was totally awesome, although I feel just a little weird that the last two movies I've seen have involved me eating tasty snacks while watching regime change/torture in the Islamic world (although this was way, way less intense than 'Zero Dark Thirty'). But, go 'merica, right? The real revelation in this movie for me was Ben Affleck -- not that he can direct (although the movie was fantastic), but that he's so freaking hot. When did that happen? The beard and the slightly world-weary look in his eyes makes a huge difference. Or maybe it was half a bottle of zinfandel (although I maintain that the zin was medicinal and an attempt to disinfect my stomach while eating movie theatre ceviche). But seriously, dude can rescue me from Tehran any day of the week. Also, did the Argo crew find Kyle Chandler asleep in the CIA set that they borrowed from Zero Dark Thirty and ask him to play a bit role, or was it the other way around?

And now actually seriously, I'll say that the movie was v. satisfying (well written, well paced, well directed) and also made me deeply, deeply wish that I had grown up in the seventies. Also, I wish that I were Alan Arkin - Subz told me that I could pull off his attitude, but I think that while I may have the wit/sharp tongue, I don't have the killer instinct to tell someone to go fuck themselves. Perhaps this would be a good area for development for me. Or perhaps I like having friends. But then, if I told people to go fuck themselves, I wouldn't end up getting my breasts massaged in India. This is a tradeoff that will haunt me, I'm sure.

Enough of this nonsense - it's time for bed. Clearly I'm giddy and irrational because my book is done and I can contemplate not writing for two or three days - yay. But now, I must sleep; hopefully my dreams are a little less psychotic tonight, since last night I dreamed that I was a hostage on some tropical island, which turned out to be the tip of a peninsula that developers wanted to take over, and Seeley Booth, the sharpshooter/FBI agent from Terry's beloved show 'Bones', came in to rescue us, which was super hot. Also, the guy holding me hostage really liked my glasses, so that was nice, but he was a total dick and not really a good person, so I'm glad Booth came in to rescue me. So maybe I do hope my dreams are psychotic again? We shall see, we shall see. Happy book birthday to me, and hopefully tomorrow I'm a little less insane (unlikely, right?). Goodnight!

these spies, these slow hands

I'm totally out of words because I wrote fifteen pages of new material today to fill a placeholder I had made for the scene that was supposed to go there (a rather intense Nick and Ellie scene, and by intense I mean they had sex and it always takes me forever to write those, and I usually write them last so I know what the emotional arc is so that the scene feels necessary and not gratuitous). It's actually rather amazing that I wrote fifteen pages, since I didn't start until six p.m. -- but that fifteen pages took me six and a half hours, with a break to eat some string cheese and another break to eat some chocolate, and a third break to do a crossword puzzle because I'm an octogenarian at heart.

Anyway, the beginning of my day didn't look promising; I stayed in bed too long, and since I wasn't looking forward to writing this scene, I kept putting off working. Then, it was time to go downtown and get my bangs trimmed -- they were actually the perfect length, but in a few days they would be too long, and my new stylist is so great that I don't want to lose her trust by trimming my bangs myself if they get too bad before it's time to see her again. So I got them trimmed, then went to the mall to return a bra that I had bought a month ago, worn once, and discovered it squeaked every time I moved (which is quite distracting when you work alone in a silent house). It was odd that it squeaked, since I had bought two others in different colors and they were totally fine. Anyway, I returned that one, bought a different black one to replace it, and then got some leggings to replace the worn-out onces I had to toss. Then I ate at Chipotle (gluten free food of the gods), came home, and worked for the last six hours. Yay, me.

And now, I really should sleep -- I need to repeat this performance tomorrow (sans shopping), and I have an eye appointment in Mountain View and a social plan (gasp!) in the evening, so productivity is going to have to happen earlier in the day. Goodnight!

it takes my pain away

If there is an app that would send me a text at, say, six p.m. and remind me that I vowed never to drink again, I would download it and install it on every device in my possession. Alas, though, I failed to remember this crucial vow...but more on that in a moment.

Today was mostly really productive; I got up at eight (shocker), messed around on the internet, made some eggs and coffee, and worked for several hours, with a break for lunch and multiple tiny breaks to check my sales rankings (as usual). Around two p.m., I discovered that I'd missed a call from my mother, so I called her back while taking a walk -- I ended up walking for about forty-five minutes, which was a good way to clear my head and get some fresh air (which is, strangely, sadly lacking at my desk).

After my walk, I came home, procrastinated, showered, procrastinated some more, wrote another page, and took a nap. Then I wrote until Terry came home, at which point I was promptly distracted, and I had a glass of wine with her while eating leftover chili and watching Aaron Sorkin's latest exercise in self-indulgence (aka "The Newsroom"). I was supposed to go out tonight, but I was well on the way towards bailing, since I was already in my pajamas (which I put on after showering at four p.m.) and feeling like I desperately needed to chain myself to my desk for another three or four hours.

But Chandlord knows me well, and she called to verify tonight's plans, and once she had me on the phone I didn't think to back down. So I put on real people clothes, swiped some bronzer on my pale and hermity cheeks, and went to Burritt Room (down in Union Square) to meet up with her. It wasn't just her, though - we were going out in honor of Chris and Priyanka, our two exciting new friends from last summer's German wedding. They were in town for a couple of days with Priyanka's brother Nikhil, and so we had drinks and food and general merriment for several hours. This may be the only time I have ever hung out in San Francisco in a group where a majority of people have been to Centerville, Iowa -- I suppose times when Katie or [censored] were out here and we were with one other person might count, but still. Priyanka and Nikhil grew up there, Priyanka for less time (the last two years of high school, although we graduated the same year and never met each other), and Nikhil for most of his formative years since he's six years younger than her. So, that was bizarre and amusing.

More amusing was that I had planned to have one drink and peace out, but it was so fun to see them again that I kept forgetting. So I had three cocktails at Burritt (two Strawberry Macaroons, which were delicious and tasted like strawberry soda, and one something else that involved egg white and gin and other deliciousness), and we ended up eating a lot (polenta, fries, dungeness crab tart, salmon, prosciutto, etc). Then we went to Big, home of last weekend's merriment, where I had one more cocktail - I asked for something not so alcoholic, and they delivered in the form of some amazing concoction made with wines, vermouths, etc. (still alcoholic, though). I left them around one, when they were still going strong, so that I could take a cab home and try to recover before it's time to get up and go to Berkeley in the morning.

But I must say (and yes, I'm tipsy if I'm saying this) that San Francisco is a wonderful city, despite all the weird people and overpriced drinks and fifty-five degree summer days. And I'm glad I'm here, even if the thought of trying to make a living as a full-time writer without any stock options to fall back on is enough to give me (multiple) ulcers. But I've just gotta have faith that I'll get there -- and if I don't get there, at least the bars are great and the drinks are strong. Goodnight!

he's the one i'm leaving you for

Today was a v. meh day, even though on the surface of it things were great. Everything was slightly off, though, as though 5% of everything had to be bad in order for the rest of it to go forward as normal...which was v. odd, since I couldn't quite put my finger on my malaise.

Actually, I can put my finger on it...my neck is killing me, which made everything else worse. I woke up this morning, showered, and was out the door by 9:45 to grab breakfast, since I had nothing in the house to cook. However, I went to the cafe on Union Street that I'd vowed never to go to again, which was my first mistake; their huevos rancheros are really good, which is why I went back, but the service is generally terrible, and today was no exception. However, I wrote a couple of pages while I waited for stuff, so it wasn't all lost. Then I ran an errand where I was surrounded by screaming children, since that's what Union Street is at ten a.m. on weekdays (well, screaming children and their yoga moms have to compete with underemployed marina kids drinking mimosas - I love my neighborhood).

But, I escaped the Marina and drove to the other side of the city to visit the Legion of Honor. They were putting on an exhibit called "Cult of Beauty", all about the Aesthetic movement in Victorian Britain, and it ends on Sunday, so I wanted to go before I missed it. It was well worth seeing; the Victorian period is after the time in which I write, but I have a vague idea for a Victorian series, so this was good inspiration. I wandered around, listened to the audio guide, and took copious notes...which is approximately when my neck started hurting, since I was schlepping around my usual gigantic bag, carrying the audio guide around my neck, and trying to brace my notebook against my arm whilst writing in it. I've been having trouble with my neck off and on for months anyway, and this definitely aggravated it, which aggravated me to no end.

After the exhibit, all I really wanted was tea and scones, but I can't eat scones because of my fucking gluten intolerance. So I had the tea (which was excellent) with some thai coconut curry (which was tolerable), and wrote another page in the garden outside the museum. However, I exchanged some texts that put me in a lousy mood, made more lousy because service all the way out at Legion of Honor (which is on a bluff overlooking the Pacific) was pretty sketchy and so my battery was rapidly dying in its vain attempts to find signal. So I came home, took a nap in hopes of making my neck feel better (verdict: failure), and relocated to the roof, where I wrote another couple of pages.

However, trying to write a sex scene when the idea of sex makes your neck hurt more really isn't all that appealing, so I gave up and started to read a book. But I should have chosen a different book; this one is about the Fae (aka fairies, but evil fairies, not cute little winged things), and I've never read a book about the Fae that I've liked. Terry came home and rescued me, so we talked and ordered takeout and watched tv, and she let me bitch about the Fae and my neck and the cafe and children, and everything else, and we watched the finale of "Mad Men" (and John Slattery aka Roger Sterling may have fixed what's wrong with my sex scene). And now that I've both overshared and overcomplained, and made my neck worse by typing, I'm going to bed -- goodnight!

look how they shine for you

My book is technically already out, and has been for a week, but I still feel nervous and giddy about tomorrow, like it's the first day of school, graduation, and my wedding all wrapped into one. It's the culmination of so many things, the peak after years of effort -- but it's also the start of everything, the first step toward what I hope is a lifetime of writing success. I don't know what it will hold; my goal for the first year is to produce enough books and sell enough of them to be able to keep doing this full-time, and it's theoretically possible even though it will be a lot of hard work. Still, I'm excited, and if nothing else, it's great that my family and friends have been so supportive. So yay to all of you!

Today was the calm before the storm. I succeeded in writing a few pages of Malcolm and Amelia's book, even though I kept getting distracted by checking stats. I talked to my parents for an hour, [censored] for half an hour, and my aunt for a few minutes (in response to the comment she left on last night's post), and they were all good. I also spent too much time looking at my 23andMe information, which I just got back this week; I had bought the test a year ago and never took it, but I finally sent it in just before it expired, and I got the results back this week. [censored] and I compared results, and it turns out we are related (phew). Some of my results amused me -- for instance, it says that I'm a 'likely sprinter' (although that's based on muscle recovery, not on height/ability to walk without stumbling). It also said that I'm in the 83rd percentile for Neanderthal DNA, whatever that means. But generally, there was nothing either surprising or worrisome (and the only worrisome thing is also unsurprising, given how many of my relatives have had dementia), although I've got some cleft lip genes that my kids will have to watch out for. [censored] and I both have slightly higher than normal odds of living to be 100, so hopefully we will be antagonizing each other for many years to come.

As for the rest of the day, I have little to report. I worked on the manuscript off and on, alternating with a variety of promo stuff. I watched bits and pieces of the 49ers game, although Terry was in no state to tolerate my 'humor' by the end of it. I also made chicken pad thai for the first time ever, using the recipe from the gluten-free cookbook my parents gave me, and it turned out both extremely tasty and surprisingly quick to make. Alyssa would want me to have more vegetables, and I'll have to do a vegetable dish to go along with it next time, but for a first effort it was really good.

And now, my friends, it is time to sleep. Goodnight!

but i've gotta let it go

I should have gone to bed ages and ages ago; it always seems to happen that I stay up the latest on nights before mornings when I actually have to get out of bed at a normal-person hour. I moved Friday's training session with Alyssa to tomorrow since I need to be in Palo Alto tomorrow night anyway, but she could only take me at ten instead of eleven - which means I need to get up and battle traffic. Ugh.

Today was mostly ugh as well, if I'm being honest. I made it down to Palo Alto and Alyssa with no problems, and our training session was great. Then I went to Joanie's and wrote some more notes about my first book whilst eating my usual salad; the notes were good and all, but they certainly weren't polished, perfect scenes (which is what I'm going to need with increasing desperation over the next few weeks). I came back to the city of sin to avoid the rain-ruined traffic patterns, stopped at the grocery store, came home, cleaned out the fridge so that I had room to stow my groceries, and by the time I sat down at my desk, it was four o'clock.

And then Steve Jobs passed away, which threw Twitter and all my other tech sites into a frenzy of mourning. I was unexpectedly sad about it; the man did achieve an incredible amount in his lifetime, and his vision has, perhaps as much or more than any other single human in the past thirty years, completely changed the world. I have three Apple products within two feet of me right now (macbook, ipad, ipod -- and I suppose it's five if you count my bluetooth keyboard and bluetooth trackpad), and Apple is one of the drivers in the content revolution that will ultimate determine whether it's possible to make it as a self-pubbed author (or, one could argue, any kind of author at all). So, Steve Jobs's passing is quite sad, particularly when one wonders how his vision would have changed the world in the next two decades if he hadn't died so young.

Anyway, I spent the rest of the night taking care of a variety of tasks that I absolutely loathed the idea of doing, but I knew that I needed to get them off my plate so that I could focus my mental energy on my novel rather than on avoiding all thought of those tasks. Luckily, I accomplished all of them -- but between the tasks themselves and the extreme procrastination between tasks, it's now 1:30a.m. One of my methods of procrastination was making some chicken fajitas (sans tortillas, but with my favorite storebought Casa Sanchez guac and salsa) and watching the season premiere of "Hawaii 5-O". Granted, a girl's gotta eat, so making supper wasn't procrastination -- but one could also argue that a girl's gotta see Alex O'Loughlin wearing a wifebeater and orange prison pants, doing some really hot pushups, then getting shanked and dramatically escaping prison (with his abdomen bleeding copiously, and doing a cleanup job in a gas station bathroom) to find the evidence necessary to prove that he was innocent of the crime he supposedly committed at the end of last season. Actually, you can stop at him doing really hot pushups. All I'm saying is that I don't usually gush over such stuff, but even I felt a flutter of something that I can only guess was attraction rather than indigestion.

And on that somewhat seamy note, I'm going to bed. Goodnight!

never mind, i'll find someone like you

I felt quite productive today, even if I didn't write a damn thing. My mind is whirling with the possibilities before me, and I spent a lot of today getting small stuff squared away -- little things like taking care of minor email tasks, cleaning off my desk, washing my sheets, making a new agenda for Q4, etc. I forgot to eat breakfast and half of an unsatisfying salad for lunch, which is as good a sign as any that I'm back into my dark days of workaholism. If only I could run off and fight in the Spanish Civil War and trade my addiction to work for an addiction to bourbon, I'd have a much more interesting life (even if my life would be a clear ripoff of Hemingway). Funny how the relapse suddenly seized me as soon as I started thinking about my writing as a startup, rather than sitting around waiting for someone to like me (isn't that dramatic?).

I had to slough off around 2:30 to rush downtown, where I was almost late for my spa appointments (tragic, I know). I had a facial to clean up my skin, followed by a massage that I had high hopes for. The facial was quite good, and is the reason I keep going back; the massage was one of the worst I've ever had, and if anything my neck feels worse than it did when I went in. I think the masseuse must have been new -- the massage itself wasn't great, but she failed to ask basic questions about whether her pressure was okay or whether the bed was warm/cool enough, and she almost forgot to move the bolster under my knees. I know, this is the very definition of a #firstworldproblem, to use a Twitter expression. My neck has really been bothering me the past six weeks or so, and I resorted to lying on a heating pad for an hour tonight, but I may have to see a doctor or something if it doesn't get better. Yes, my health woes continue in ways that are minor enough to be laughable but chronic enough to be annoying. Sorry that I'm turning into your grandmother.

After the massage, I sat in the whirlpool for awhile in an effort to do what the masseuse could not, but to no avail. So, I left the spa, came home, dragged Terry out of the house and around the corner, and got takeout burgers from Roam. To be honest, I didn't have to drag Terry very hard; Roam is quickly becoming our go-to spot for a quick dinner, particularly since it's got the protein I'm supposed to be eating in an utterly delicious form. We brought our burgers home and watch some fine television programming. First up was the season premiere of "The Good Wife", which was good but not explosively so; I didn't really get the bit with the daughter's tutor, but hopefully the next few episodes will 'splain. Also, I'm a little ashamed of myself that I'm so ridiculously attracted to Chris Noth (Mr. Big to those of you who watched "Sex and the City" or failed to properly commit ritual seppuku after witnessing the atrocity that was "Sex and the City 2") - he generally plays somewhat sleazy characters and is, as I just discovered to my horror, older than my father. And yet for me he steals every scene he's in. Sigh. Moving on from that moment of oversharing, Terry and I finished "The Good Wife" and watched the second episode of "The New Girl". I was disappointed that they replaced last week's hilarious black dude with a new, different black dude; apparently they filmed the pilot awhile ago with an actor attached to a series that later got picked up for a longer run (per Terry's insane knowledge of tv trivia), and so they replaced that actor for the regular season of "The New Girl." Way to not even try to pretend that they wanted a black guy for diversity, since they basically swapped him out -- or maybe I'm just bitter because I liked last week's guy way better.

I stopped watching television at that point so that I could lie on my heating pad and read a book about social marketing; I then abandoned the heating pad, sat up, and started listing all the things I need to do/investigate to come up with a comprehensive marketing plan that will lead to success/fame/glory/profit (or at least one sale to someone who doesn't know me - I'll take that as a start). And I took care of some v. necessary email, and all the sudden it's one a.m. Blergh. I suppose that means I should go to bed - goodnight!

lie down in darkness

This is the latest I've stayed up (and, consequently, the latest I've blogged) in an age -- and I'm not even drunk, so good for me. I had a mostly lovely day; the middle portion of it was dominated by meeting up with Nathan at his newest startup and participating in a user behavior interview, which basically meant that I got to talk about myself for two hours (my favorite subject!) and I got a whole sandwich as compensation. Yay. It was actually fun, even if my description sounded sarcastic. While I love writing (some days) and publishing (...even fewer days), there is a part of me that misses the speed and excitement (and compensation) of the tech world, so it was fun to see an early startup in action.

After my interview ended, I came home, spent some quality time eating the second half of my sandwich and staring off into space, and then forced myself to work on zee gargoyle book. It was slow going trying to fight my way back into it, since it's been several days since I've written anything. I finally took the unusual approach of lying on my bed, on my stomach, with my head buried in a pillow and my arms stretched in front of me, typing blind. That prevents my internal editor from going crazy with the criticism and self-loathing ("you used that tired, cliched metaphor to describe her? ugh! you are such a poser, etc., etc."). I managed to get almost four pages out that way before the air was getting too stale in my pillow prison; when I came up for air, I started fixing typos, then I started despairing, and then Terry came home and rescued me from my despair. But upon rereading some of it later, it's actually not that bad, and at least I'm four pages further along than I was -- so yay for beating my internal editor into submission, if only for a couple of hours.

Once Terry got home, we decided to order dinner, so we picked it up from Blue Barn (a salad and sandwich place that is oh-so-very Marina), brought it back, and watched last night's "Project Runway" (verdict: Oliver is pretty much the worst, since he bitched about having to dress a real woman who has breasts, particularly because she actually tried to give input on the dress he was designing for her and he didn't want her to talk). The whole episode was pretty entertaining, though, even if I feel pretty lukewarm about the designs by most of the contestants and don't think the style level matches some of the previous seasons. After watching "Project Runway", we watched an episode of "Bones", since Terry still wants me to get caught up before the new season starts (probably a losing proposition, since I'm just now at the end of season two and we have four or five more to go before November -- and I'm not really a tv person). After that, it was ten p.m. and I intended to check my email, reread my gargoyle stuff a bit, and go to bed.

But I wasn't quite tired yet, and I needed to read THE HELP before Sunday morning -- we're having book club, and Terry picked that as this session's book because she'd accidentally bought it on her Kindle. So I downloaded the book and thought I'd read a couple of chapters before going to bed. And of course, as always happens with me, I read the whole damn thing. I was surprised at how much I liked it, although now I wonder how they made it into a movie since it's not the loudest story out there. It was certainly v. interesting to me from a storytelling/craft standpoint too, although those aren't topics that I usually discuss at bookclub. And it made me wonder, just a little, if I should be writing the book of my heart about southern Iowa, although I'm not sure about the angle that I would take into that story or whether I could go home after I told it. But maybe that's me not being brave enough...or recognizing that I don't have the talent for it...or just acknowledging that it's more fun to write romance and YA and leaving it at that.

sssanyway, enough brooding over my future writing career for tonight (or rather, this morning)...and enough parentheses, too. Goodnight!

say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in

I trained with Alyssa today; this week is in transition, but we're moving towards a Monday/Wedneday/Friday schedule, which I think will be lovely. Even lovelier is that it's an 11am slot instead of a 10am, which means traffic is less of an issue, which makes me a happy camper. Our workout today was great, although I thought my left glute was strangely sore; I later discovered that I have a large bruise on my ass which I am at a complete loss to explain, so I guess my birthday was a good one!

sssanyway, after working out, I took the fastest shower ever, barely dried my hair, and sped over to my old place of employment to have lunch with Gyre, Lizzie and Tolu. Lizzie doesn't work there anymore either, and in fact lives in Seattle, but it was as good a place as any to meet. I hadn't seen Gyre since he left on paternity leave, and I hadn't seen Tolu in almost as long, so it was v. nice to catch up. After lunch, I came home, bought some groceries (berries and meat, which isn't code for anything), and proceeded to spend the rest of the day consuming content rather than making it.

I need to get back into the non-gargoyle series, but instead I watched last season's finale of "The Good Wife" -- I'd tivo'd it in May and never gotten around to watching it, but I needed to catch up before the new season starts. The verdict is that I need to start watching this show obsessively, since it's incredibly well plotted, paced, and acted. After watching tv, I read an entire romance novel, which sadly didn't satisfy me quite as much as I had hoped. It's weird that I actually know authors now on a more personal level; this book was written by someone I know and have hung out with a bit, and while I thought it was good, I didn't love it. That made me sad, and also made me realize how awkward it will be for the people I know who decide to read my book and don't actually like it. Sigh.

But even though this blog post is boring and you, dear reader, deserve better than that, I'm going to go to bed. I don't have to go all the way to the south bay tomorrow, but I am having dim sum with Tammy, so hopefully I can do some writing before and/or after eating enough shrimp families to put myself in a coma. Goodnight!

that's nobody's business but the turks

Those of you who have seen my living spaces may have guessed the curse I bear -- I have a severe case of uberorganized perfectionism that is in direct conflict with my equally dominant hoarder genes. If you've never put two and two together, the scales should fall from your eyes when you consider my hundreds of books (hoard) organized alphabetically and lined up precisely an inch from the edge of the shelf (perfectionist), my rapidly multiplying collection of Starbucks mugs from around the world (hoard) tucked neatly into cabinets (perfectionist), my vast array of photos/museum programs/theatre tickets/postcards (hoard) tacked with military precision in straight lines on my bulletin boards (perfectionist), etc. It's no wonder I have an ulcer, since these two genes should never have been combined.

So what do you do if you're a perfectionist hoarder, descended from a perfectionist-hoarder union? You realize that the parental hoard is going to cause mass chaos upon their deaths and decide to organize in advance while everyone is still living and in their right minds. So I started a new project today, which involves photographing everything of any importance in my parents' house and captioning it with where it came from, what its familial significance is, whether it's been promised to anyone, etc. The hoarding tendencies mean that there's a lot to photograph, but my mother's perfectionism means that it's all clean and nicely arranged, with lots of interesting backstories that should be preserved. I took 55 photos today, hitting the highlights of the kitchen and living room, but since I haven't started going through china cabinets, curio cabinets, kitchen cabinets, etc., we're at the tip of the hoard iceberg. But I'd rather do it now than regret it later, since neither my brother nor I would remember the minutiae of which bowl belonged to which great-grandmother, etc.

That wasn't the only thing I did today, of course -- and besides, with my snazzy ipad the entire process is a breeze, since I can photograph something, upload it immediately, and caption it all at once. I didn't write today, although I may read a writing craft book for a bit before I go to bed; I usually take Saturdays off, and this one was no exception. My mother and I visited my grandmother in her new assisted living facility, which is a v. good situation for her even if I'm a little horrified that a health-related institution attached to the county hospital is serving apple-snickers salad (which is pieces of apple, fun-size snickers, and cool whip). I also went with [censored] down to her old house to feed the half-feral cats still lurking in her barn. I'd found her house depressing for years, ever since my granddad died, and so usually avoided going there whenever I could -- but it was much worse today, with most of the important stuff gone and so much detritus (see: hoarder genes) left to deal with. But, the kittens were super cute, and August in Iowa is possibly the most beautiful month of the year, so it was lovely to get out in the sunshine and enjoy the day.

Eventually we had supper (bratwurst and homemade mac and cheese), and then my mother and I laughed at the patently faked fight scenes in an old episode of "I Spy" (starring Bill Cosby in the first lead TV role played by a black man) which was playing on one of the retro broadcast stations that started up in Iowa after TV went digital last year. I fell down a couple of rabbit holes on Wikipedia but eventually pulled myself out, and I may actually go to bed before midnight (shocking, I know). My sister's coming over tomorrow and I'm hoping to get some writing in before that, so we shall see what happens. Goodnight!

foghorn leghorn

It's a v. foggy night in the city of sin, appropriate for my precipitous flight out of here in the morning. I don't intend to murder any prostitutes before I go, but if I do choose to bust out some Jack the Ripper moves, the fog would serve my purposes quite nicely. I can hear the foghorns from here quite clearly on nights like these, which adds to the ambience in a much more pleasurable way than the earthquakes we had last night and this morning -- granted, the earthquakes were small and only lasted a few seconds, unlike the foghorn which goes on all night, but I doubt that the foghorn is going to destroy the city someday. Unless the foghorn has some artificial intelligence that is only a few years away from sentience, but while I assume that the machines will kill us all within my lifetime, I don't think a foghorn will be the one to lead the machine revolution.

Well, that paragraph was weird. Thanks for sticking with me. I should be in bed; while I don't really have to get up much earlier tomorrow than I usually do, it would be in my best interests to get out of bed when the alarm goes off so that Terry can take me to the airport. Shockingly, I was finished packing eight hours ago, so I'm about as ready for my trip as I can hope to be. I spent the day crossing stuff off my to-do list, which unfortunately didn't include writing; I tried to write, and even took my laptop to La Boulange in an attempt to jolt myself into productivity, but I failed. However, the story is pounding at my head and trying to get out (it would be helpful if I got ebola or some other hemorrhagic fever so that the story could bleed out my ears, but I doubt I'll pick up a hemorrhagic fever in Iowa -- although if anyone could, I could!), so hopefully I'll get some quality writing in on the plane. But I'm satisfied with what I got done today; I'll be coming home to clean sheets on the bed (unless I somehow soil them tonight), plenty of clean laundry, a scrupulously neat room, and a space that I love to write in. Granted, I also love to play games and read wikipedia in that space, but at least the space is conducive to writing and daydreaming as well.

Terry came home around 6:30 and rescued me from the strange mood I'm clearly in, so I had someone to talk to other than the characters in my head. We had a v. girly night; she got a manicure and I got a pedicure (v. necessary, since my feet were becoming exactly the kind of hardened, scaly mess that one would expect of a girl destined to rule the curly-brow kingdom), and then we had dinner at an old school restaurant where we watched a bit of the Giants game. Then we came home and I scared her with my knowledge of megaearthquakes, supervolcanoes, and how we're all going to die (which I think gave her yet another reason why I've got an ulcer, since I know too much about this stuff, but that's all just the tip of the proverbial iceberg of my craziness, so I don't consider it too much of a problem -- which may be a sign that I have a problem). She went to bed shortly thereafter, no doubt to escape my doomsday ravings, and I subsided into sullen mutterings before finishing up the last few things I wanted to do before tomorrow.

And now I shall go to bed; tomorrow I shall be in Iowa! Goodnight!

let it rain over me

Be forewarned that I'm in a rather foul mood -- sometime around three or four a.m. last night, I woke up because I somehow tweaked my neck in my sleep and was in serious pain every time I moved my head. Needless to say, I slept rather fitfully after that, and my fitful slumber was not helped by the first sunny morning we've had in the Marina in a couple of weeks. My neck hasn't really stopped hurting since then, despite my attempts to treat it with Tylenol (since I don't want to take my preferred Aleve because NSAID pain relievers are possible causes of ulcers) and a heating pad (which I have because I'm prematurely embracing an octogenarian lifestyle). It's better than it was when it first happened, but it's by no means good, and it pretty much scotched my ability to do half of what I intended to do today.

Someday, hopefully, I'll stop regaling you with tales of my health woes, but it seems appropriate for an old-before-her-time hermit with grandpa eyebrows. Beyond the neck pain, though, the rest of my day was fine. I didn't hang any artwork like I had intended since I didn't feel capable of wielding a hammer, but I did unpack from my Germany trip, do two loads of laundry, and get my room as close to finished as I could. I need to carry one box and a bunch of trash/recycling downstairs, and at some point I need to hang some art, but my room looks really good. I didn't write today, but I spent much of the time that I was putzing around the apartment daydreaming about my characters. I even downloaded a collage app for my iPad and started downloading photos and images that remind me of my heroine so that I can make some visual collages of who she is -- it's not something I've really had the patience for before, but the app is extremely slick and I think it will work well for me. I also reorganized my writing notebooks in preparation for my trip home, so hopefully I can get packed tomorrow.

And so, that's all. I saw Terry briefly tonight, but since she was in about the same mood that I was, we were not particularly jovial company. And now, I should go to bed; I'm supposed to train with Alyssa tomorrow, but if my neck still hurts in the morning, I don't think sitting in the car for two hours (and not being able to check my blindspots) is a good idea. We shall see, we shall see. Goodnight!

it's about to be a scary drop

I desperately wanted to stay in bed this morning, but I managed to drag myself out of the house at a time that should have made me early for the gym; thanks to fate and traffic conspiring against me, I was instead ten minutes late. But Alyssa was in good form and proceeded to make up for lost time with various implements of torture, including resistance bands, kettlebells, and else tings.

[side note: my mother observed yesterday that my friend group has stolen the 'h' from 'tings' and 'tanks' and put it into 'jhokes', which is quite insightful]

As I was saying, Alyssa tortured me, but she made up for it by giving me a card at the end of my workout, which was v. sweet. I then showered and left the gym to run some errands, filling prescriptions and going to the mall to return some stuff that I bought before I went to Germany. Of course, returning some stuff meant that I tried on other stuff, and so the trip cost me money rather than recouping it, but we'll see if I keep what I walked away with. Then I scurried back to the gym to get my eyebrows waxed by a woman who told me after she had put wax on my brows that she used to dress like a chola -- which, needless to say, concerned the crap out of me, since the images on a Google image search for 'chola eyebrows' should tell you all you need to know about this phenomenon. However, she did a good job and I didn't walk away looking like a chola, so there are small miracles. On the other hand, she also told me that my curly grandpa eyebrows are 'unique' and that I should feel special that I have them, since she's never seen someone with straight hair and curly eyebrows. Perhaps I would have believed her, but she told me later that her favorite job is doing makeup for burn victims and other people with facial disfigurements who have never ever felt beautiful because she can give them hope -- which made me wonder if her attempt to convince me that I was a special grandpa-brow princess was her way of making herself feel like a do-gooder. Sigh. At any rate, the curls have been trimmed down and I don't look like my granddad anymore, so I'll take it.

After that rather entertaining conversation, I went to Stanford library and wrote five pages of zee gargoyle book; I'm almost a fourth of the way through the first draft, which is crazy. Crazier is that I daydream about my characters constantly, so if you ever catch me sitting around with a dreamy expression on my face, I'm either thinking of the curly-brow kingdom I'm destined to inherit *or* I'm listening to my characters' dialogues in my head. Stanford library was good for my productivity, even if it was slightly too warm and forced me into taking a ten minute nap. I finally escaped, though, and drove to Mountain View for what turned into a Blood of Lincoln reunion at Vive Sol. Originally Jess and I were going to have dinner by ourselves, but I invited Chandlord, who overcame illness to join us, and John put in a surprise appearance despite the fact that he's been too slammed with work to do anything fun for weeks. It was lovely to see them all; I hadn't seen John since before I went to New York, and hadn't seen Jess much since then either, so it was all v. welcome. Then I drove home (with a stop at Lowes to get some light bulbs - I live a v. exciting life), watched an episode of "Bones" and an episode of "South Park" with Terry, and ignored the lesson of the "South Park" episode she showed me (all about the boys getting sucked into World of Warcraft) to tend to my online Google+ game.

And now, I shall go to bed; I have a ton of stuff to do before Iowa, including writing and many other activities, and so sleep is imperative. Goodnight!

storms are brewing in your eyes

I need to get up in less than six hours, which is criminal, so I shall be as brief as possible. I made it down to Palo Alto just in time for my ten a.m. training session with Alyssa, which was a miracle given how much I didn't want to get out of bed. Alyssa found new and creative ways to torture me, but I left feeling victorious. After I showered, I went to Joanie's and had my usual cobb salad (they know what I want as soon as I walk in), then spent an hour trying to run my errand for the day -- finding bolts for my patio table. I tried to be good and frequent a local non-chain hardware store, but was punished for my do-gooder nature because they only had three bolts in the size I needed, and I needed 24. However, I did get them to make spare keys for our apartment, which we'd been meaning to do for awhile, so it wasn't a total wash. And then I proceeded to Home Depot, where the bolts I needed came in packages of 3 or 4 for $1.15 (nuts included), instead of the $0.55/bolt (not including nuts) at the local place. And we wonder why small businesses struggle...granted, I would have bought from the small place because they actually tried to help me find what I needed, but it ended up being cheaper to go to Home Depot, buy and rip open a couple of bags of bolts to make sure they were the right size, and then procure the rest.

Armed with $8 of bolts, I came back to the city of sin and put together our patio table -- so now (or perhaps after I clean the cobwebs off of it) we can sit on the roof deck and enjoy the fine California weather. Then I spent some quality time chatting with friends online, which I almost never ever do, so that was good. I also made some more notes about zee gargoyle book; I brainstormed at lunch and I've been thinking about it quietly in the background all the time, so I think I'm close to understanding what happens next. That's the danger of going into the book without a clear plot -- sometimes I have to stop and let things percolate, which always feels like laziness even though there really isn't another option at that point.

Eventually, though, I had to get ready and go out. My friend Jenni (whose fiance passed away this spring) just moved to the city with Lauren (not Subz - my old boss from a million years ago who was really more like a friend than a boss), and they invited me, Durand, and two of Lauren's b-school friends to an inaugural dinner party at their new place. They would only be a 10-15min walk from me, but as it's straight uphill, I drove instead and spent as much time looking for parking as I would have walking, but I arrived non-sweaty, so that was worth it. I had a totally fabulous time; it was great to see Lauren, Jenni and Durand, as usual, and Durand and I hit it off with the b-school friends quite well (to the point that I told two people I had just met a few hours earlier that I once baked a cake, decorated it to look like Poland, and then 'partitioned' it at a Germans vs. Austrians theme party, which is usually not something I divulge right off the bat as it makes me look crazy). I didn't get home until 1am, sort of forgetting until I was in my car that I'm supposed to be in Berkeley at 8:15am to meet some people before the monthly romance writers meeting. Ugh. So I should really, really go to bed -- goodnight!