Re: that book that I'm not really talking about

I am still in the phase where Nothing is Happening with my book. And by that I mean, we aren't ready to shop it for a publisher yet because we are still fine-tuning my proposal, which has gone through at least a dozen revisions. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I would choose the agency all over again, if given the chance to choose the agency all over again. My agent Heidi is incredibly thorough and dedicated to my project. She understands my heart for this book about the family we don't choose, but whom we choose to love, and the God who still chooses to love us. She understands the dilemmas I have as a writer shaping this book about my own life. She has read the manuscript a bazillion times, not because she's making a huge fortune by doing so. In fact, she hasn't yet made a dime off this work. That sort of blows my mind that someone who isn't yet paid cares so much about the quality of this whole package deal.

Let me tell you about the revisions, though. They pull all my guts out and stuff them in the dryer on a superfast spin cycle. Then they pack them back into my body bag and sew me up with twine. These revisions are a special operation. I usually love editing: other people's writing and even my own. This task of revising, though, holds some serious gravity. I've got a revising complex because these are words for a publisher to read and flirt with and fall into like with and maybe fall in love with, ultimately. For example, this one sentence that serves a sort of preamble to the proposal? I have stared at it for hours. This is not usually my m.o. Inspiration will usually strike me any old time, like while I am brushing my teeth or reading a book or while I am driving my kids home from school and listening to an old Hall & Oates song and then BAM! That's it! I'll just say, "I can't go for that (no can do)!" This one proposal sentence, though, just paralyzes me.

I am sincerely glad to be going through this exercise, though. I am learning to market my writing which is something somewhat new for me. I am also learning to appreciate this process that makes a believer out of oneself in one's own work. I used to think that all was an automatic residual: that one's confidence in one's work, if one had spent considerable time on it, was pretty much assured. So! Utterly! Untrue. I can work forever on my manuscript but if I'm not able to identify the key reasons why it is valuable, and will prove valuable to a readerly audience--then what? Big fat nothing is what.

So I push on, believing that we are closer, believing there is value in the process and in the product.

***

And just for ol' time's sake, here's my toss into the #ThrowbackThursday ring.

Baby Girl's first Red Sox game - Sept. 2008

8 Thoughts I Have Whilst Getting a Pedicure

1. Why is it that there's always a leader man of the pack working the nail salon? Why is there a whole den of she-manicurists but only one he-manicurist and he's the only one who talks to customers? I'm not trying to disrespect hierarchy here, but I've entered my fair share of nail salons and there is always Just One Guy and so many women working there, and The Guy is Always the One Who Talks to Customers First. Who decides this and what would happen if there were more than One Guy? 2. Did I tell someone that I needed a pedicure? Because I didn't mean to say I need. I meant want. Children in The Sudan need food and water. I just kinda want not to have the toenails of a pegasaurus.

3. Do pedicurists always tell you that you picked out a "nice color"? Like they work 40+ hours a week in the nail salon but they needed you, you super sleuth of the OPI rainbow, to pick out such a nice color. Because this happens to me every time and I'm all high-fiving myself for being such an outstanding color curator and then I think, Nawwww! They say that to all the girls!

4. When the pedicurist pulls out the scraper that is most likely a cheese grater and starts rubbing it against your foot, why does it feel so crazy ticklingly good?

5. Why does someone like I (who lives a pretty sedentary life), who does not work in a factory or run across hot coals on the regular, need to have her feet scraped with a cheese grater?

6. What would happen if the Department of Motor Vehicles and a nail salon teamed up and while you waited in the interminable line to get your driver's license renewed, you could be getting a spa pedicure???

7. Would it be reasonable to vote for someone whose campaign platform included access to affordable, clean pedicures for all?

8. Is it okay to tip 10% for a pedicure? Someone just took a cheese grater to my foot--I feel like the tip could go either way?

Review: 3 Day Juice Fast

Due to the manner in which I Pac-Man ate my way through the holidays and due to the number on the scale that manifested as a result, I put my new juicer from Santa to work upon our return to TN. I elected to do the 3 day juice fast that the fellow who is no longer fat, sick and nearly dead touts as "jumpstarting" a healthier lifestyle. As my personality tends to Overdo Everything, I thought a 3 day juice fast was right up my alley. It's just part of my contract that I must Overdose on Everything I Enjoy so much that I develop a deep and abiding repulsion for things like Aunt Annie's pretzels of which I once ate 3 in one sitting. GOT CARBS? I can juice myself silly and then I'll be so excited to go back to chewing real food that I'll have a visceral reaction every time I eat a cupcake, triggering the ominous threat of going back to juicing if I dare.

So, the juicing. It was fun to make the juice. That new Breville machine could probably grind a Redwood tree trunk pretty gamely into a nice bark-juice. Lovey Loverpants bought me a bounty of kale, carrots, onions, peppers, and we had loads of grapefruits and oranges. I had a good time with the prep.

Day 1 of the juice fast was...you know. Cleansing in a way where no one can get near you (see also: hazards of eliminating fiber from your diet). By noon I was getting hypoglycemic and I needed to think clearly to finish my semester syllabi. So I ate a bowl of almonds. Otherwise, I was good with the fruit and veggie juice for the rest of the day. Which is to say I didn't eat anything else and by 8 p.m. was begging the man who was hitting my head with a meat tenderizer to stop (see also: the worst headache of my entire life). So I went to sleep and woke up ravaging for food.

Day 2 I woke up hating everyone. The thought of juice made me gag. I ate some oatmeal and felt no guilt. For lunch I had some juice. A couple hours later, I had some more juice. By late afternoon I was so cranky and my head was hurting so bad that I just started speaking blather. Who knows what I was doing. Probably shouting out all of my banking passwords to the people at the express check-out who had the nerve to be buying Little Debbie Snack Cakes at a time like this. By dinner I was feeling faint so I begged Loverpants to make me some rice. By 10p I still had a dull ache in my head. I went and grabbed a piece of chocolate and within 20 minutes my headache was gone. I slept the sleep of a milk-drunk newborn baby.

Day 3 I woke up and stepped on the scale. I was already down 3 lbs., probably from the stress and water loss alone. I decided to leave the juice cleansing to Gwyneth Paltrow. Later we went to Waffle House and I shoved the buttery waffle into my wide-gaping maw and praised the God of the Universe for giving us the ability to chew.

I still enjoy the occasional veggie juice, especially with the assistance of my deputy juicer.