All right, I have a cold, and my head is so stuffed it’s clogged my brain. I’m living on tea and Smith Brothers Cough Drops, so expect no words of writing wisdom from me this week. So lieu of that, here’s my cat Gracie, who never met a pair of unoccupied pants she didn’t want to sublet. Did I mention she’s exceedingly cute? I believe it goes without saying. She’s my cat, after all.
The Book Fair will be held on Saturday, March 30th from 4:30 TO 6:30 pm at the Renaissance Woodbridge Hotel located at 515 US Highway 1 South Iselin, NJ 08830.
The Book Fair is open to the general public in addition to all conference attendees.
**GPS ALERT** ENTER THIS ADDRESS for directions to the hotel: 401 Gill Lane, Iselin, NJ 08830.
If you’re a college professor like me, chances are March Madness has absolutely nothing to do with basketball, but everything to do with the point you’ve reached in the semester. I’m talking about when your grading brain’s been set to high-sizzle and you’d give your next two incremental raises for a week without whiteboards, lectures, mandatory offices hours, and anything coming close to a five-to-seven page essay. I’m not even going to touch midterms. Anyway, if you made what I make you’d totally know I’d have to be losing it to suggest the above. It’s bad, I tell you. One more day of looking like the above then it’s off to someplace warm. Cancun? Ft. Lauderdale? Hell no. My bed until noon, baby oh yeah!
See ya in two!
When I went to my 1:30 class this afternoon, it was bright and sunny and about 34 degrees, a slight breeze, and just a smattering of puffy clouds low on the horizon. When I got out about an hour and a half later, it was gray with the wind picking up, a snowflake here and there appearing. Fifteen minutes later a snow squall hit with blinding force, the visibility virtually zero, the temperature dropping fourteen degrees in five minutes. Another fifteen minutes later it was all but over, and now, two hours later, with the sun setting, the thermometer is expected to drop like a rock. The forecast in my part of New Jersey is for five above. Which makes me happy as if I were in Wisconsin, that’d be a day at the beach. The temps there when you apply the windchill factor rival the Arctic. In fact, I think it was warmer in Antarctica today.
Can you think of a better time to stay inside and write? Of course not!
I’m not kidding. 2018 was a bitch. Seriously, I’m still working on things I should have finished a long time ago, but the sheer volume of those “things” haven’t let me. So here I said, two days into 2019, and I’m still working on closing out 2018. Ah well. I’ve been told 2019 will be much better. Mainly, I think because 2018 offers such a contrast. But I’m looking forward. They say not to make New Year’s Resolutions. Make goals instead. So that’s what I’m going to do. As soon as I get two minutes to rub together. Okay–gotta go.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! and keep writing!
Late last night I graded my last essay and sent in my final grades, a Herculean task that just about burnt my brain to a crisp. And even though I’m finished now, I kind of feel like Santa does up there, needing a stiff drink and a good long sit to recover. So I’m taking one until after the New Year, where I’ll again have to prepare for the new semester, and for two presentations I’m making, one at an MFA residency, and another at a writer’s conference. I won’t mention the interim semester class I’m teaching, or the book I’m just pages away from finishing. Well anyway, don’t we all suffer for our art?
Happy Holidays to everyone and here’s to a gleamingly prosperous New Year. It’s got to be better than the last one!
The following is a reboot of a post from a couple of years ago, but I happen to like it and I’ve been so busy grading end-of-semester essays, my brain’s too mushed to think up anything original. So consider it a Christmas gift–from me to you and visa-versa. (You may thank me now.)
With Hanukkah now behind us, another holiday fest starts imminently, but you would think that it already has, as much as gets done in December. As for me, I simply let the ‘daze rumble past like a runaway train, and if something happens to fall out of the caboose for me, so be it. But if you believe the concept driving the season is peace and not what piece is for you, then here’s a few hints to let you know just how far behind you are:
1. The Great Work Stoppage – As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey comes out of the oven, it’s as if everyone forgets they have a job. Suddenly all meetings become holiday parties, and if you’re expecting that report to get finished, you might as well call back next year. In my particular milieu, I nearly have to hit my students over the head with their final essays to get them to even remember my name.
2. Vanishing Editors – If you were hoping to get your manuscript sold before the end of the year–ha ha, good one! From now until after New Year’s, editors, as well as a fair amount of agents, take a breather and make the rounds of Gotham’s holiday celebrations, where I imagine a fair amount of deal making takes place over the babaganoush. If you’re the writer, think of it as a temporary reprieve from submission angst.
3. Everything’s on Sale – Back in the day, you used to have to wait until after Christmas to get a price cut, but thanks to retail giants like Target and Macy’s, the discounts only get deeper the closer you get to the big day. Which is fine, because if you’re like me, the shopping starts the day before, and I’m all about half-off.
4. The Dread Christmas Sweater – Think about it: if it wasn’t the holidays, would you ever wear that sweater in public? Do you actually like rick-rack, glitter, Rudolph’s battery-operated flashing nose, or cable-knitted Thomas Kinkade reproductions on your chest? So much better to wear the DCS’s less offensive cousins, The Christmas Socks. At least we only have to endure them when you cross your legs.
5. “Oh go ahead – it’s the Holidays.” – Which means, go ahead and eat that brandy cheesecake as big as your head. What the hell – you’re on Lipitor anyway, and your blood test isn’t until January. Which also means you can eat half that Hickory Farm’s beef stick, which is my personal holiday no-denial favorite. No fooling, I’m stocking up!
Only thirteen days left. Get crackin’!
Yes, that’s the beach in the background. I thought it was appropriate. Because that’s where I am, Yuengling in hand, not thinking about the book I have to finish, or that classes start one week from today. I’ll be thinking about that all sooner or later. For now, fingers in ears and lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala…