Cloudya

Her: Your money will go farther in Buffalo. You’ll see. When we lived in Delaware we had an actual house. With a pool and a hot tub. On land! Here we live in a 1 bedroom apartment.

Me: Why did you leave?

H: My husband.

M: That’s why I’m leaving.

H: That’s why we all leave, us women.

The agent who read the first 10 pages of my book for my manuscript consultation today wants me to email him the rest of it. Exclamation point!! Even though I was in idiot mode the entire time and said things like, “I google imaged you beforehand” and “I’m very shy, is that coming across?”

God. I am an idiot.

But hey, an idiot with a decent first chapter, right?

I know I’m not likely to get a book deal out of this. But it’s something. It’s the first literary agent to ask to see my book.

Yay!

neuroticdad:

I promised myself I wouldn’t use this blog for self-promotion but…

My Kindle Single is available from Amazon! It’s a “hilarious but moving” short novel about a young American in London in 1990.

It’s only $2.99. (UK, £1.99.) If you don’t have a Kindle, you can get a free app to read Kindle books.

I’ve had a great experience working with the editors at Amazon, and I think that’s reflected in the book. So, Tumblr friends, please help me get the word out. Buy it, write an Amazon review (you can be honest), reblog.

Or just smile and help me enjoy the moment.

On second thought, please buy it.

I walk into Panera and I’m greeted by Pablo.  Pablo has a graduate degree in architecture, but he’s working at Panera because he lost his job.  He asks me how I’m doing.  Anything published recently?  He pats my arm and tells me to let him know if I need anything.  He smiles.

I walk over to my booth and on the way I’m greeted by Jimmy, a fellow Panera regular.  He asks me when my book is coming out.  He calls me the next Agatha Christie.  He jokes with me about how he saved my favorite spot for me.  We smile.

Later today I’ll go home and see Angela, the front desk receptionist at our building.  She’ll ask me why I don’t bring Brandon by more often.  She’ll complain about her sinuses and I’ll make a mental note to make some soup for her.

The nannies at the park.  The neighbor across the hall.  The cashier at the grocery store.  They are all more than strangers.  But they’re not friends.  Not really.  And somehow that makes it worse, because I know that once I leave here I’ll never see them again.  We won’t look for each other on Facebook or shoot each other the occasional e-mail.  Once I leave Miami, they’ll be out of my life.  For good.  Forever.

So I’m mentally and emotionally saying goodbye.  I don’t think I’ll tell them I’m going.  What would be the point?  I’ll just stop showing up one day.  And maybe they’ll notice and maybe they won’t.  But I hope they do.  Because they’re not family, and they’re not friends.  But they mean something, and I’m really going to miss them.

The thing about being an angel is that it’s so hard to remain, you know, angelic.  Imagine that you carry on your white-robed shoulders all the burdens of Heaven, but what you do with it, most days, is a big fat zero.  Imagine that you can watch all of God’s creatures frolicking shamelessly, but instead of joining in, you’re forced to sit on the sidelines like some kind of holy referee.  You’re a watcher and a whistle-blower.  You’re glorified middle management.  You’re a parent without ever having wished for it.

That’s why so may of us are so frustrated.  That’s why so many of us get off on the smiting and the wrathfulness.  At least it’s a change of pace, you know?  At least it’s an outlet.  At least it’s something more than waiting.  And watching.  And wishing…

Dry cleaner dude: Are you sure you want to preserve your wedding dress?  You could wear it again.

Me: Oh, it doesn’t fit me anymore.

D: I see…

M: I was a lot thinner when I got married.

D: Okay, well…

M: But, you know, I’ve had a baby since then.

D: Okay, w-

M: But I’m working on losing the weight. It’s just, you know, I like to eat! Haha…

D: …

M: …

D: Okay, well, let’s go ahead and preserve the dress.