It is that time again
How odd! Time doesn't just fly, it disappears from one spot and totally reappears in another instantaneously (check your Physics 101 manual for complete details) -- that's how fast time moves these days.
It's once again time for Writers With Drinks out in San Francisco! (And with the WGA strike going on now, I suspect the number of writers with drinks this weekend will multiply by ten thousand.) (ha ha)
The reading series that orbits its own head is back again! This time, Writers With Drinks features:
- Kage Baker, author of The Sons Of Heaven and other novels of the Company
- Inga Muscio, author of Cunt and Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Devil
- Jessy Randall, poet and author of A Day In Boyland
- James Calder, author of Knockout Mouse and other Bill Damen mysteries
- Ellery Urquhart, finalist in Rooster T. Feathers comedy competition
- Samhita Mukhopadhyay, who blogs at Feministing and Colorlines
When: Saturday, Nov. 10, 2007, 7:30 to 9:30 PM
Where: The Make Out Room, 3225 22nd. St. between Mission and Valencia, SF
How much: $3 to $5, all proceeds benefit other magazine
My own news
Who would have guessed it by the way my life has been going for the last couple months (well, okay -- the last couple years), but yesterday, I actually finished that short story I was behind deadline on. I was in total awe of myself. I am still capable of writing, even while being out of my mind. Who knew?
Now I can get back to work on that short story my agent is waiting on; the one I cheerfully promised that turning around in 10 days would be "not a problem." (You're wondering where I learned sentence structure, aren't you? While others among you are no doubt wondering where I learned the definition of "10 days." In my world, 10 days is startlingly close to a month in other people's worlds...)
Oh well. As always, on I go. The big news of course is that the flannel sheets are already on the bed. It has gotten so cold here. And even though my flannel sheets don't have Santa or snowmen on them (as you would most likely -- and with good reason -- assume), they do still remind me of Christmas because I bought them last year just prior to the holidays, and in fact put them on my bed for the first time when the Christmas lights were already strung up all over the house. So this morning, it felt a little like Christmas! Yay! (The feeling's gone now though.)
And unbeknownst to me, because I've been working like the proverbial dog with hell hounds on my tail and have not really looked in my backyard in a few days, every last one of the leaves from the maple tree has fallen to the ground. That's a ton of maple leaves. (Not implying Toronto hockey players here.) The lawn care guy came to my front door yesterday to say, "Well, how 'bout instead of mowing the lawn today, we just come back on Friday and do the final clean-up for the season? Now that all the leaves are down."
And I said, "Okay, sure. Anything that falls after that, I can just rake up myself."
He smiled uncomfortably, and looked at me like -- yes! -- I was out of my fucking mind! What leaves might she be referring to, he was probably wondering; little invisible leaves from heaven that only she can see?
It wasn't until he was long gone that I happened to look out at my backyard and was really stunned to see that in fact all the leaves were indeed already off the tree. And I thought to myself: God, he must think I'm so weird.
It's once again time for Writers With Drinks out in San Francisco! (And with the WGA strike going on now, I suspect the number of writers with drinks this weekend will multiply by ten thousand.) (ha ha)
The reading series that orbits its own head is back again! This time, Writers With Drinks features:
- Kage Baker, author of The Sons Of Heaven and other novels of the Company
- Inga Muscio, author of Cunt and Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Devil
- Jessy Randall, poet and author of A Day In Boyland
- James Calder, author of Knockout Mouse and other Bill Damen mysteries
- Ellery Urquhart, finalist in Rooster T. Feathers comedy competition
- Samhita Mukhopadhyay, who blogs at Feministing and Colorlines
When: Saturday, Nov. 10, 2007, 7:30 to 9:30 PM
Where: The Make Out Room, 3225 22nd. St. between Mission and Valencia, SF
How much: $3 to $5, all proceeds benefit other magazine
My own news
Who would have guessed it by the way my life has been going for the last couple months (well, okay -- the last couple years), but yesterday, I actually finished that short story I was behind deadline on. I was in total awe of myself. I am still capable of writing, even while being out of my mind. Who knew?
Now I can get back to work on that short story my agent is waiting on; the one I cheerfully promised that turning around in 10 days would be "not a problem." (You're wondering where I learned sentence structure, aren't you? While others among you are no doubt wondering where I learned the definition of "10 days." In my world, 10 days is startlingly close to a month in other people's worlds...)
Oh well. As always, on I go. The big news of course is that the flannel sheets are already on the bed. It has gotten so cold here. And even though my flannel sheets don't have Santa or snowmen on them (as you would most likely -- and with good reason -- assume), they do still remind me of Christmas because I bought them last year just prior to the holidays, and in fact put them on my bed for the first time when the Christmas lights were already strung up all over the house. So this morning, it felt a little like Christmas! Yay! (The feeling's gone now though.)
And unbeknownst to me, because I've been working like the proverbial dog with hell hounds on my tail and have not really looked in my backyard in a few days, every last one of the leaves from the maple tree has fallen to the ground. That's a ton of maple leaves. (Not implying Toronto hockey players here.) The lawn care guy came to my front door yesterday to say, "Well, how 'bout instead of mowing the lawn today, we just come back on Friday and do the final clean-up for the season? Now that all the leaves are down."
And I said, "Okay, sure. Anything that falls after that, I can just rake up myself."
He smiled uncomfortably, and looked at me like -- yes! -- I was out of my fucking mind! What leaves might she be referring to, he was probably wondering; little invisible leaves from heaven that only she can see?
It wasn't until he was long gone that I happened to look out at my backyard and was really stunned to see that in fact all the leaves were indeed already off the tree. And I thought to myself: God, he must think I'm so weird.
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