Mom’s in town. I’ve gotten nothing done (or at least not as much as I would like), but I’ve been hearing really amazing family history stories involving punctured eardrums, stateside Schindler’s lists, children locked in closets, cancer, suicides, and the Russian military. I could not be eating all these stories up more quickly and eagerly than if I had six hands holding six spoons. And we talked about our family’s obsessive work ethic, which is only weird to people who don’t know any better, obviously. Also I took mom to yoga! And a ladies lunch with Rosie! And today we are taking my niece to Brighton Beach to create a Family Memory that eventually will fade I suppose, but I hope not.
I have a couple essays that are brewing (one that might very much appeal to a women’s magazine and one that is about a crazy bird who lives around the corner that will of course appeal to no one and will take me forever to place but will be ten million times more rewarding to write than the first) that I might try to dabble in this weekend. And then Bernie’s in town. And then I have an appointment with Sara Marcus to talk tour strategies (hers, not mine), and then after that last daytime date, which I think is the 21st, I’m not leaving my house for ten days unless it’s for yoga and to scavenge for food and OK maybe to have dinner with Alina Simone one night (but that’s it, I swear), until I hit page 250, so don’t contact me unless it is really important or you have something exceptionally sweet to whisper in my ear.
By July 31, 250 pages.
Sure, why not?
Have a great weekend.
