It’s hot. Haaahhhht. (Please supply requisite nasally whining voice here.)
It’s too hot to work.
Too hot to make the bed.
Too hot to cook. (It is, however, never too hot to eat. As long as one doesn’t mind subsisting on a diet of snowcones, smoothies and tortilla chips. But I digress.)
It is even too hot to read about Jude Law’s fall from grace inside the pages of US magazine. People, when you can’t even be rousted to read supreme trash, well, that’s just tragic.
Today, I started noodling around with Book #3. It has no title yet. It is clay. A big, chunky, unformed glob o’ gunk. “So what happens in this one?” people ask. “No idea,” I reply. “Oh come on. You must have some idea where you’re going.” “Newp. Not a friggin’ clue.” (They usually look disappointed and disdainful at this point and I feel compelled to come up with an answer like, “Ah, I’m pretty sure some bad things will happen and stuff? And there’ll be some loose ends to tie up and crap and I’m pretty sure it will be too long.”)
Anyway, I went to B&N to grab some books for research and wool-gathering. I usually read all kinds of arcane stuff just to jog the old synapses into firing instead of lounging around in my brainpan and having conversations with the other synapses about whether or not to order pizza. So I get there and here’s how it goes. (Dramatic recreation of conversation with kind, beleaguered Barnes and Noble employee):
Me: Hi, do you have any books on the Freemasons and secret societies?
Him (cocking an eyebrow): Did you have a particular book in mind?
(Sure, Freemasons To Be, You and Me; The Sound and the Freemason; Freemason Willy.)
Me (sheepish because I used to work in an independent bookstore and HATED it when people would do this to me): Um, no. That makes it hard, huh?
Him: Yes. Yes, it does.
(Pause. Somewhere in the store, another person orders a frappucino and an angel gets its wings.)
Him: Were you looking for something on the history of the Freemasons….? (His pleading look says, Help me out here, sugar.)
Me: Yeah, I’m sort of looking for kooky, conspiracy nut stuff? The kind of books that might be written by a guy who lives in his mother’s basement and spends his days putting duct tape over his windows to keep out the gamma rays and jams a fork into his phone to foil the government plot to establish a new world order.
Him: Oh, you want supernatural/occult and possibly world history.
All in the name of research, folks. I ended up getting nothing from supernatural/occult or world history but did pick up lots of books in mythology and travel. That’s mythology. And travel. In case you were wondering if you can now book a Frommer’s Guide trip to Ancient Celtic Legends Ireland. Let’s Go Eddas and Sagas! Lonely Planet Valhalla! Snowboarding with Vishnu!
It’s the heat. It’s the heat. This is your brain. This is your brain on humidity.
In other news, I just got back from a trip to Phoenix (more heat, again. And don’t give me that crap about how it’s a “dry” heat. Yeah, I’m sure a microwave is dry, too, but I don’t want my ass in one.) and San Francisco (ahhhh, soooo not hot and humid). Did a book signing at Books, Inc. along with the lovely and talented crew of Holly Black, Liz Braswell (aka Tracy Lynn), Heather Frederick, Jane Kurtz, Jennifer Jacobsen, and Cecil “Throw it in…” Castellucci. We were greeted by the dynamic duo of Jennifer Lauren (sp?) and Shannon Mathis who ran a fabu book signing and gave us daisies to boot. We adore them beynd all reason. Long may they book.
The next day we shuttled out to Marin County for Barry’s (our mutual agent and my exclusive husband…I think) annual client retreat. We were staying at the Marin Headlands Institute which is incredibly gorgeous–hills behind us, ocean and craggy sea rocks in front–and we slept in bunk beds. It was like camp for grown-ups. Well, the grown-up part is debatable but the being like camp part is right on. I bought Curious George p.j.’s at Target just for the occasion (instead of the rattty, disgusting old stuff I wear at home.) I loved hanging with that crew and talking writing. Somebody (Cecil? Holly? Cassie Claire?) had the idea of having an annual convention just for readers: ReaderCon. Hey, they have conventions for Star Trek and Gaming. Why not? The food was actually great, as opposed to barely edible, and we even had a campfire one night where I lived in fear that we would all go up in flames as we moved closer and closer to the fire to get warm. I went hiking with Heather, J.J., and Jane up in the hills. Saw a bobcat. Yes, and honest-to-God-guess-what-I’m-capable-of-tearing-off-your-leg-in-an-instant bobcat. You have never seen a girl turn tail and get the hell out of some place so fast in your life. Brave Sir Robin…brave Sir Robin….
Also saw a snake. That’s the only problem with nature. It’s just so…naturey. (Can you tell that all my Girl Scout merit badges were in things like “Reading” and “Crafts”? To this day I find sleeping bags baffling inventions.
Miss Cecil (aka Nerdy Girl for you Canadian indie music fans) played her guitar and sang for us and that was so wonderful. She is such a gifted singer/songwriter. And Mette Harrison (Mira, Mirrror) who was eight months+ pregnant did not go into labor. Whew. Not sure I was ready to earn the “Guess what you’re going to deliver a baby on the fly!” merit badge. Knowing Mette, she could have probably delivered baby #6 (yeah, 6) herself and been on time for dinner. Go, Mette. Cassie told a HILARIOUS story that I cannot repeat but I can say that I will never be able to look at Bobby Brown again without laughing. And Jo Knowles came up with the perfect t-shirt slogan to match: What Would Bobby Brown Do? (More than you care to know, apparently.)
And there was much rejoicing.
Must go lay in front of the gasping air-conditioner with a wet towel on my head.