Ah, that’s a lie. I’m alive, and other than a slight cold or an annoying allergy, thankfully in decent hearth. But I’m going to be truthful here, admit more than I usually do, and, I believe, I’m one of many in the situation.
I feel like the Scarecrow sometimes. If I only had a brain!
I would not be overwhelmed.
What is it about us? It’s usually considered to be women, but sometimes men as well. Somehow, we managed to grow up in the “Enjoli” era. Some of you may remember. “I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let him think he’s not the man!” Paraphrased terribly, but it’s a very old ad for perfume.
Sometimes, interviewers tell me that many authors have to have a quiet room, there own place, soft music, perfect lighting, whatever, to work.
That would be true insanity. For most of us, work takes place in the midst of kids. Or pets. Or other work, or other commitments. Oh, by the way, that was not a comment stating that Dennis was an incapable person. He’s been around far too long, actually, and is far too opinionated about publishing. But that doesn’t change life. For most of us, a quiet garret somewhere is a fantasy, or a dream. Or it’s not even a dream anymore, because if we had such a place, we’d be looking around, unable to work because something else wasn’t going on, someone wasn’t needy, there wasn’t a time line because a child didn’t need to be picked up from one activity to be brought to another.
Okay, so . . . this time, it got a bit overwhelming. First, there’s the audit. God was angry at me, and had me audited. He wasn’t that angry, or it’s all His sense of humor, because he did give me the most decent and kind agent in the world. I’ve actually learned tremendously from her. She’s stern and her figures will add up, but she has never just lifted a hand and said, “too bad.” She has done her best to help me get missing paper work and make the numbers crunch. But I did get hit with two years in which storm damage erased or ate up a lot of receipts, the journal, and all that. So it’s tough. She works with me.
God is good, after all.
Okay, so audit. Then, midstream, when I was about to turn in a book, we’ve decided that another book needs to be out first. Okay . . . .
Then there is New Orleans. Two weeks now before I leave. Panels, trying to make sure everyone speaks, and speaks with the right group. I have help on this–Mary Stella has put together lots of panels. Who is coming, what is specific need at the workshop, and how do I best serve that need? Roommates–do I have the best combination of people together. (Hey, even in–or especially in!–my own family, this is a tricky task. Again, lots of help–Connie Perry. Baskets for raffles–the original idea of the workshop was to bring people into the city, and then, to support the libraries. Of course! But we need those giveaway from baskets. I’m the one who needs to bring in the goodies. Books to fill the bags–and, thus far, we are remarkably proud of our bags. We try to give the most amazing bang for the buck out there, and support our fellow authors who are there and who cannot be there, so we try to make excellent goody bags.
(Hey, I’m not proud. Anyone with giveaways, books, etc! Connie Perry, 103 Estainville Avenue, Lafayette, Louisiana)
Okay, audit, change in book, NOLA.
That’s okay . . . .
Bill! What’s that wretched bastard doing out in the Atlantic? Okay, he’d better head north, that’s all I have to say. And leave Bermuda the hell alone, too, got it?
We’ve been remarkably lucky this summer. Lots and lots of rain and wind–remnants of storms that didn’t quite make it, and hey, that’s great, we can deal with rain. I am part of Florida, and the state has been beaten up, and it’s handled it well every time. (I mean, who needs electric every day, eh? That annoying Camille already moved into the panhandle, headed north, and is petering out.
So back to that frazzled thing, accountant’s office, book, email, wow, maybe I should twitter, all those pics on my camera and I haven’t downloaded, really need to do the laundry . . . .
It’s all part of bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, and somehow live a good life, do the things we feel in our hearts, and . . . .
Really. Even back then, I was ready to beat the @#$$%% out of the “Enjoli” woman!