There’s a Small Chance That I’ve Lost My Mind.

muse.jpg I’ve mentioned that I’m trying to recapture my writerly spirit; apparently, to do so I’ve also got to spend a boatload of money… which seems to be how end up doing a lot of things, I should confess. Regardless, the facts are as follows:

  1. I have registered for Grub Street‘s Muse + the Marketplace conference.
  2. I have also signed up to participate in the event’s Manuscript Mart, which means I will be meeting with an editor to discuss twenty pages of my work, which he or she will have read prior to our meeting.
  3. I have lost my mind.

After registering, I spent a majority of Monday flapping my hands about like a chicken and all but clawing at my face, because I am so stressed out by this whole situation. All I could think about was scene towards the end of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides when a Lisbon sister dies from an overdose. I just had the image in my head:

She had on so much makeup that the paramedics had the odd feeling she had already been prepared for viewing by an undertaker, and this impression lasted until they saw that her lipstick and eyeshadow was smudged. She had clawed herself a little, at the end.

If I’m not careful, I feel as though that could easily be my fate — though you should know that I don’t have any sisters. Still, I can see it: slapping on the face powder and exuberantly outlining my eyes, pouring a river of pills down my throat and, at the very last minute, sluggishly scraping at my neck with my nails… This is another sign that I am freaking out — I get overly dramatic.

Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on how everything unfolds…

Really Quickly…

my-mistresss-sparrow-is-dead.jpgToday is Valentine’s Day, something I’ve never been terribly into, but I’ve always enjoyed making the cards for it and other occasions. In fact, when I read My Life in France by Julia Child and her grand-nephew Alex Prud’Homme, I was so very excited to learn that Julia made valentines in lieu of holiday cards. This year, however, I didn’t plan well and, as a result, didn’t make any cards, even though I had come up with what I thought was a fantastic idea back in October. Oh well. BUT (and I don’t care that you shouldn’t start sentences with BUT) had I made the cards, I would have tried to draw, then would have ultimately given up trying to draw, then would have tried to find a detailed old-fashioned-y looking illustration of the human heart. I then would have printed it up on cream-colored paper, trimmed it down to size, then affixed it to sturdier blood-red paper. I had it, along with many other things, all planned out in my head. Imagine, then, my expression when I saw the cover of My Mistress’s Sparrow Is Dead, a collection of short stories edited by Jeffrey Eugenides. The art is very close to the valentine I had mentally mapped out, so guess what book has just jumped out of the ether, as they say, directly to the top of my reading list? After I finish the two I’m reading simultaneously, of course.