Thursday Thirteen--things I'll do instead of RT

right now I'm fretting because an ex-boyfriend wants to meet for coffee and that just makes me fret.

The rest of the list:
1. Reread Vonnegut as a private wake. My kid got me Slaughterhouse Five for a present. Or so he says. He bought it a few months ago and forgot to give it to me. It's in his room somewhere and I can't enter that place because of the floor is festooned with magic cards and 12 sided dice.

2. Read every one of the adventures of John and Marcia.

3. Not read or write another word about Imus. I've been doing both. Naughty, naughty. You can't take away the chocolate eggs, though. I ate 'em.

4. Write a short Summer story to sell for a fabulous sum to [name of publisher here].

5. Make a keynote speech to my family about the most inspiring moment of my writer's career OR the terrible low point out of which I had to drag my butt. Note to self, have theme include how I overcame adversity or, even better, helped someone else do it. (Nothing about being fired by an editor. that's just depressing, not inspiring--unless I make up story about being hired by editor's boss.)

6. Overcook the baby carrots and pour too much balsalmic vinegar on them to imitate many of the meals I've eaten at conferences. What? I like them cooked that way.

7. Go visit other people's blogs -- the ones who're at RT -- and jeer at them for drinking too much, partying too hard, having too much fun, while I'm writing, which is our real Career, after all. And I'm way too into being a Writer to allow RT to interrupt my precious routine. I have work to do. Being a writer is about actually writing, not doing a poor job of networking.

8. Feel sorry for myself because I'm not drinking too much, partying too hard, and having too much fun.

9. Stare out the window at the sleet and snow and say "damn you, you fucking snow! It's fucking April!" out loud when the kids aren't home. Scold the kids for using bad language when they stare out the window and say the same sort of thing.

10. Hide from the kids because they have all of next week off and I have no plans for them. None. Hiding doesn't count.

11. Be inspired by Corn Dog's photo montage and do something creative with the last batch of peeps.

12. Get dressed up one night in party clothes, walk around the block or maybe visit the local Starbucks. Hand out business cards and maybe autograph a free copy of one of my books that I'll bring along. I don't have my own book marks but have Teresa Bodwell and Linda Gayle's bookmarks. I'll hand them out to dogwalkers and/or baristas too. Go home and go to bed.

13. Make my husband stay up late in bed talking shop with me even though he's never read my books, doesn't know any of my editors' names, doesn't like romance and doesn't read blogs by editors, agents or anyone else. Force him to get up early and fetch me a cup of coffee from downstairs because I'm am just not up for breakfast with crowds of overeager young faces. That last's sort of standard in our lives, actually. Good man!

Comments

  1. Rachel5:38 PM

    Hey Kate! It's Rachel, your niece.

    A few weeks ago a cute little tree outside of my dorm had yellow peeps stuck onto the ends of each of the branches, so many that it looked like they were blooming. I have no idea who did it, but it was one of the best campus pranks that I have seen.

    You and the boys should go do that to a tree in a local park, if they haven't started sprouting leaves yet. Watch people's reactions. It's priceless.

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  2. Damn. Why didn't I think of #10 before Spring Break started? Now I'm stuck running around with the kids because they don't think vegetating for a week sounds like a vacation. Sometimes, I really wonder about these kids.

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  3. OH RACHEL! That is SO INGENIOUS!!! I wish I had thought of that for my montage.

    Thanks fer the link, Kate.

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  4. Your husband hasn't read your books?

    That means, at least on one level, I'm closer to you than your husband. But honestly, what's the matter with him? Kick his ass for me.

    One of the many things that depresses me about Vonnegut's passing: here's one of the brightest lights of American literature, and he gets only the barest snips of recognition on the Daily Show and Olbermann. The man deserves so much more.

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  5. Now I want to stick peeps on trees, too. Dammit. Everything has leaves on it here. Maybe I could find a dead tree somewhere, and green peeps...?

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