A quick howdy!
Well, only about 7,000 more pages to go on the new novel before the March 17th deadline! Yay!
Okay, perhaps I exaggerate, but that's how it feels, anyway. I keep typing and typing and typing; moving that story right along; it's 1918 already (in the book, that is) and everyone's on their way to Hollywood, finally. But then I sit back at the end of the day, survey the progress and think: what the fuck? I still have so much farther to go! (The novel ends in 1927...)
Well, I have to do what I can to not let my fertile imagination (i.e., "my mind's ability to throw everything out of proportion and freak out") overwhelm me. Just keep typing. "Onward" kind of thing. I rely heavily on my characters' telling the story themselves because, frankly, I don't have a clue what's going on! And in a matter of a handful of weeks, I will be in Los Angeles at the Chateau Marmont having dinner with my lovely agent, and not only will the novel be finished by then, she will have read it and commented on it, and we will be discussing my strategy for the next book (my memoir thingy). So. No pressure. Everything's copacetic, gang. AAAAaaaarrrrgh!
On another topic... this time: My Enormous Ego (folks who know me well know that I need a wheelbarrow by me at all times in order to carry my ego around!)
Another quick review-ish sort of mention of my story "Baby, It's Cold Outside" in the erotic romance anthology, Bedding Down, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The review of the book was on AllAboutGeorge.com and it said this:
"I was pleasantly surprised by the characters in Marilyn Jaye Lewis’ “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” where car trouble during snowy weather puts a couple’s scenic-route drive to a Philadelphia Flyers game on pause."
(Whew! It's technically accurate but it's also "an interesting way" of summing up my story!) (And yes, folks; I love ice hockey. But I only like the Eastern Conference teams and I no longer live in their region; sigh.) (And yes, I put a semi-colon before the word 'sigh' for whatever inexplicable reason.)
But seriously... my real ego stroking story is this: a British organization that publishes audio versions of books for the blind, chose my book LUST: Bisexual Erotica (Alyson Books, from 2004 or 2006, or some other god awful long time ago) as one of three adult fiction titles on offer for the blind. (And if you're interested, as I was: it takes a little over 6 hours to hear the whole book.) One of the three titles was a novel by some guy I wasn't familiar with -- probably a wildly popular author in England. But what thrilled me the most, in all ego-seriousness gang, was that Emile Zola was the 3rd author. Unbelievable.
I am, like, stupefyingly mystified and awed to be in that company, gang. So weird. But thanks!
Well, okay. As you can probably guess.... I have a ton of work to do over here, folks, so I gotta get crackin'. Thanks for visiting, though! See ya on St. Paddy's Day!
Okay, perhaps I exaggerate, but that's how it feels, anyway. I keep typing and typing and typing; moving that story right along; it's 1918 already (in the book, that is) and everyone's on their way to Hollywood, finally. But then I sit back at the end of the day, survey the progress and think: what the fuck? I still have so much farther to go! (The novel ends in 1927...)
Well, I have to do what I can to not let my fertile imagination (i.e., "my mind's ability to throw everything out of proportion and freak out") overwhelm me. Just keep typing. "Onward" kind of thing. I rely heavily on my characters' telling the story themselves because, frankly, I don't have a clue what's going on! And in a matter of a handful of weeks, I will be in Los Angeles at the Chateau Marmont having dinner with my lovely agent, and not only will the novel be finished by then, she will have read it and commented on it, and we will be discussing my strategy for the next book (my memoir thingy). So. No pressure. Everything's copacetic, gang. AAAAaaaarrrrgh!
On another topic... this time: My Enormous Ego (folks who know me well know that I need a wheelbarrow by me at all times in order to carry my ego around!)
Another quick review-ish sort of mention of my story "Baby, It's Cold Outside" in the erotic romance anthology, Bedding Down, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The review of the book was on AllAboutGeorge.com and it said this:
"I was pleasantly surprised by the characters in Marilyn Jaye Lewis’ “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” where car trouble during snowy weather puts a couple’s scenic-route drive to a Philadelphia Flyers game on pause."
(Whew! It's technically accurate but it's also "an interesting way" of summing up my story!) (And yes, folks; I love ice hockey. But I only like the Eastern Conference teams and I no longer live in their region; sigh.) (And yes, I put a semi-colon before the word 'sigh' for whatever inexplicable reason.)
But seriously... my real ego stroking story is this: a British organization that publishes audio versions of books for the blind, chose my book LUST: Bisexual Erotica (Alyson Books, from 2004 or 2006, or some other god awful long time ago) as one of three adult fiction titles on offer for the blind. (And if you're interested, as I was: it takes a little over 6 hours to hear the whole book.) One of the three titles was a novel by some guy I wasn't familiar with -- probably a wildly popular author in England. But what thrilled me the most, in all ego-seriousness gang, was that Emile Zola was the 3rd author. Unbelievable.
I am, like, stupefyingly mystified and awed to be in that company, gang. So weird. But thanks!
Well, okay. As you can probably guess.... I have a ton of work to do over here, folks, so I gotta get crackin'. Thanks for visiting, though! See ya on St. Paddy's Day!
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