Diary of an adult runaway

A whole grab bag of stuff!

Okay, I thought I was jealous of those at National, and then I saw this!:

(Photo BRAZENLY stolen off Keris's blog, coz she so deserves it)

Yes, Keris, you most definitely ARE a hag. You meet Armistead without telling me, get your books signed, AND forget to ask him the KoolAid question. If I didn't love you so much, I'd have to hate you.

Anyway, sigh, yes, it's RWA National conference time again and I'm NOT there and that's bumming me out, except that Mel is keeping me entertained (as well as disturbingly turned on) and I had a mini-mini-conference on Tuesday with the delightful Laurie Schnebly Campbell, who was in town. You might know her as Laurie Campbell (Silhouette) or as the woman who gives fabulous workshops. Her Tips From Madison Avenue: The Selling Synopsis is outstanding, and she's just as dynamic and interesting in the flesh. We rabbited on for 2 hours, during which she gave me a copy of her new craft book on creating characters using enneagram theory. I don't have the book with me to give you the full details, but I'll post them--I'm suspicious of using "molds" for characters, but this book immediately gave me so much fodder for Cora's "boy" that I truly give thanks to Laurie. See you in SF!

Here's a shot of us at Caffé Kimbo, in which I'm looking remarkably stupid, but you can't have it all:

What I would like is a little warmer weather, and so would this little girl, I'm guessing:

And this guy:

Oh, and here's a shot of the racks for the new bike program. No bikes yet. The deal is, you either sign up for a year or rent by the day or week (with a pre-authorisation on your card so if you happen to "lose" the bike...) and put the bike back at any of the stands around town. They're popping up all over the place, it's a joy to see.

A guy getting his daily bread on the way home:

Just across the road from the Moulin Rouge, there's everything you could need: a chemist, a café and a sex shop.

We Montmartrois/e had been waiting for this one for a few days. Cones and tape around parked cars means a film crew will soon be showing up (they tape off the parking spaces then move their vans in when the cars move out), which they did last night. And stayed all night.

I could hear the generators going until they packed up at 5.45, but the poor folks on rue Gabrielle--the street was blocked off all night and they had a camera crew up on a cherry picker-style thing. I think it was a period piece, there seemed to be a few old cars floating about.

Another random shot from my balcony:

So, yes, as I said, it's National time. I always get melancholy this time of year if I'm not there, because I know what I'm missing out on (though thanks to Blogging National, I'm feeling less woebegone). Okay, sometimes it feels like Vegas because some people can be so desperate, thinking this is their one shot at publishing and they HAVE to follow the editor into the loo and shove their manuscript underneath the door (don't laugh, it's happened), but overall it's a big delightful ball of fun and information and adrenilen. Oh, and sequins--that's always seemed a bit weird to me and I did giggle at the Denver conference awards ceremony when they started out with some weird Hollywood-esque music (WTF? I'm at the Academy Awards and no one TOLD me?? Where's George??) and got some dirty looks, but apart from that, it's all good.

Well, no, that's not entirely true. This time of year I always think of those who I met at conference and who are no longer here, noticably Vicki, such a fighter, going to the Beau Monde (Regency chapter) dress-up ball looking so vibrant, even though the chemo had made her hair fall out. We caught up again that year at the Desert Dreams conference, then again a few weeks later when she, Tamara and I took a long walk through Muir Woods. That was over a decade ago, yet I never think of National without thinking of Vicki, even more so this year with the news of the deaths of Kathleen Woodiwiss (whose Shanna was such an inspiration to me) and Ronda Thompson. (And that reminds me: vale, Ladybird Johnson.) Good luck to all the GH/Rita finalists--though I especially have my fingers crossed for Jeri Smith-Ready, whose Eyes of Crow is a phenomenal read.

What else? Damn, I was sure there was more! Oh yeah, here we go! I've been watching The Age Of Love and throughly enjoying it. Mark Philippoussis is a Melbourne boy, and had quite the rep--a little sulky, a lot spoiled. One radio station had a segment where listeners called in with gossip. About, oh, 8 years ago, a girl called to say her dad, a cop, had clocked Mark doing 100kms under the Westgate Bridge (a 65km zone). One of the DJs asked "What in?"--meaning what car, because he was known to have a few. I had a great laugh when the other DJ jumped in and said "A bad mood."

All that aside, there's no doubt he's an excellent player, though I often had to change the channel come Australian Open time because you could see the instant he ...well, I don't want to say "gave up" because I don't think that's what he did, but it was heartbreaking at times. And there's no doubt he's a hottie. I saw him in a Davis Cup parade once and was suitably impressed--although, all the other players (Pat Rafter included--yum!) wore their full uniform and Mark was dressed casually, until someone threw a Davis Cup blazer over him.

Anyway! That's a long way of saying I'm really impressed with how he's grown up and what a decent guy he seems. I'm also completely digging the 40-something women and laughing at the 20-somethings. It's the most frustrating thing to hear, when you're younger, that you don't understand everything but by God, as I watch this, I think "It's true!" At least, it was with me. (Shh! Don't tell anyone!) I'm loving how the 40s kick back and have a great time--and say what's on their minds. I also think it's interesting that no blonde blondes remain. I know he really, really likes 20-something Amanda, but that Jayanna's a spitfire. I loved the look on his face when she said "You should have kissed me by now." She's my hero! (But memo to Mary: please, stop crying. Please. Or I'm coming over to give you, as my mum used to say, something to really cry about.)

And that's it, I do believe I'm done!

Awesome!

I've been using this word a lot lately. No idea why, maybe coz it just sounds...awesome? And I haven't just muttered it, either, I've been putting in a whole, toothy Parker-Posey-as-Connie-Bradshaw performance. That word deserves nothing less.

Things I'm thinking are "Awesome!!" today:

1. Why I love Ms. Mac. Water came out my nose I laughed so hard, I'm not ashamed to say.

2. My landlady. Yesterday I stopped halfway on my voyage home to do a little shopping and other things. Waiting back at the bus stop when a car pulls up and beeps. Tempted to ignore it because I know about 5 people in this town, only 1 owns a car. Then I realize it's Agnès (perfect timing, because one of the chores I did was get my rent money) and so I enjoyed a lovely ride straight to my door in the blustery weather. (Been wanting to bring the camera along and snap some pics of Paris in summertime but, hate to tell you this, folks, it's frigging winter!) I just loved Agnès from the moment I met her--warm, funny, friendly, and an awesome painter.

3. Cheese and bread. So simple, so delicious.

4. Antipo, for climbing up the hill for coffee and custard creams on Saturday (and Monoprix, for delivering the custard creams AND Cadbury's. Woot!) You didn't even flinch when Kody decided you were his new favorite person.

5. The neighborhood cats who climb up the tree outside my office window and have a very civilised chat before dashing off in pursuit of pigeons.

6. Steve Miller Band's Jet Airliner. Just one of those tracks that carries you along with it, especially that whole "Coz I don't want to get caught up in any a' that funky shit goin'down in the city" line. (Part of me is still a little girl who giggles when I hear a "bad" word in a song. Ooh, it's so naughty!)

7. Jaydee Bixby in the Top 22 of Canadian Idol! Oh sure, I knew he had to be but I was a little panicked that he hadn't been seen throughout the whole final-decision show until right up to the end--and then he's there, all sweet and saying "If you put me through, I promise I'll learn new songs." And he's through, and so's that cool-as-shit Steve McQueen lookalike Tyler Mullendore. Game on, boys!

8. Freshly laundered pajamas. Seriously, anything better? Nope, didn't think so.

Speaking of laundry, hauled my stuff down to the laverie on Sunday, then popped off to the closest café for a (so-so) café crème and some (awesome!) bread and honey. Supposed to be working on one book, but just couldn't get this chick out of my head. She's a bit character in it, just there for one scene, nothing special--and I was a long way from getting to that scene. Problem is, no one told her she's nothing special, and before I knew it, I was writing down "Cora, 38, hates the sound of other people kissing," and it just went on from there.

I suck big time at synopsis writing, I hate the damn things with a passion, yet by the time my laundry was done I had half a synopsis and--more importantly--a fully formed character. I knew exactly her conflict, what was going to make it unbearable, and how to get her out of it. Some people call it their muse, some people call it the girls in the basement. I don't know what to call that, but I'm very grateful for it. Actually, I'm calling it the universe providing, because I knew exactly the house where I wanted her to live, I'd fallen in love with it years earlier, and I cannot fucking believe it but I went home and found photos on Flickr from someone who's moved into an apartment in that very same house--they thoroughly documented it inside and out. Setting is a massive thing for me, so this was a sign from the gods. Here's a shot from Cora's top floor:

I messed around a little with Curio to create a collage, but it wasn't giving me what I wanted and I was impatient so I Photoshopped up this, which is now my desktop:

Then yesterday I sat down and wrote the rest of the synopsis. I'm staggered. It's tight, it explains everything, there's a definite arc. At least, I think so ;-) Sure, some things will change along the way, aspects of the characters I haven't even considered will pop up, but this one works for now. Always amazes me how my writing process changes from book to book, how with some the first line comes, but with this one it's about something she hates (the sound of kissing) being the signal of a much bigger problem. And this time I get to play with a woman right on the edge who's messing with someone she shouldn't, which is reflected a little in my preliminary iTunes playlist:

American Boy~Chris Isaak
Down By The Water~PJ Harvey
San Francisco Days~Chris Isaak
If~Janet Jackson
Throb~Janet Jackson
Bitter Wine~Bon Jovi
Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak~Macy Gray
Sexual Revolution~Macy Gray
Sexy Back (Dirty)~Justin Timberlake
Get Off~The Dandy Warhols
The F-Word~Babybird
Let It Be~The Beatles
Hard To Handle~The Black Crowes
You Are My High~Demon
Bad Girls~Donna Summer
H.A.P.P.Y. Radio~Edwin Starr (no book set in San Francisco can ignore disco)
Mean Woman Blues~Elvis
Fever~Elvis
Help Me Make It Through The Night~Elvis
Name~Goo Goo Dolls
Jump Around~House of Pain
Find 100 Ways~James Ingram and Quincy Jones
You Belong To Me~Jennifer Lopez
Fuck Was I~Jenny Owen Youngs
Cold Hard Bitch~Jet
I Walk The Line (live at San Quentin)~Johnny Cash
I'm a Bitch~Meredith Brooks
How Does That Grab You Darlin'~Nancy Sinatra
Fuck You Like An Animal~Nine Inch Nails
I'm a Woman~Peggie Lee
Velas~Quincy Jones
Desire~Ryan Adams
Daytripper~Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66
You Make Me Feel~Sylvester
You Wreck Me~Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
Woman of the Ghetto~Marlena Shaw

(Mum, if I get this published, you can read it, but for God's sake don't tell Gran or Auntie Phil, they'd be mortified! Just tell them I wrote it in French or something.)

Now I just have to write it. Which means I'm headed for Starbucks this afternoon. Boi-by!

You gotta fight! For your right! To paaaaaaaarty!

Ok, so things have been busy here, plus I basically CBF'd to blog for the past, you know, whatever. No particular reason, just ... CBF'd. Had lots of meetings then a few days off. Plus, it's been unseasonably cold and all I wanted to do was curl up and watch TV.

Which I did. I watched a few episodes of Sports Night and it didn't take me long to start thinking Aaron Sorkin did a little character recycling. Listen to the dialogue and you'll see how similar those characters are to The West Wing. Here's a handy viewer guide for you:

Dana = C.J.
Natalie = Donna
Isaac = Leo
Jeremy = Sam (which is interesting, because he's played by Joshua Malina, who played Will, Sam's "replacement" [in quotation marks because seriously, who could replace Rob Lowe? No one. Thank you.])

I'm still trying to work out whether Dan = Leo or Toby, or Casey = Leo or Toby, because they're quite similar but stick with me, I'll make it.

Went to see Pirates 3 on Saturday and ... not overwhelmed. Of course, I giggled with glee every time Jack came onscreen, because JD is perfect in that role. Perfect. And Anita (a new partner in crime) and I were the only ones to laugh at the "Use the tool" line (the place was packed with French speakers--packed, I say! They had their own Version Française to go to but nooooo, they clogged up our Version Originale cinema.) Overall, though, the plot felt incohesive to me. It felt like this happened then this happened then this happened without any real link. Course, I'll give Pirates 4 a shot. Coz we all know that wasn't the end.

Had a huge meeting last week, ran for a few days. There was someone there who...well, alls I know is I'm going to make sure I vote in the next federal election--for the opposite party. My brother once told me a story about a friend of a friend of his, and it reminds me of this person:

The friend of a friend was called Victoria, and I don't know her last name so let's just say it's Brown. She was living in London at the time, shopping at Harrod's, waiting in line in the food department. In swanned a tall leggy blonde who at the time was married to Mick Jagger. She grabbed what she wanted then pushed her way in line--ahead of our fearless heroine, Victoria.

Victoria: Oy! I was here before you!

Blonde: Do you know who I am? I'm Jeri Hall.

Victoria: And I'm Victoria fucking Brown and I was ahead of you, so fuck off.

Jeri Hall flounced off, applause for Victoria following in her wake.

And finally! I did the rounds of the medical professionals this week, with a bit of Victoria Brown attitude. Now, my doctor is very nice, everyone's very nice, but that's not getting me anywhere. So essentially I told her:

1. I'm not going back to the surgeon she recommended, I didn't feel confident in him. (Ok, so not everyone's very nice. You don't grab the leg of someone obviously in pain and shove it across the other leg to see how much extension they have.)

2. Although my osteopath has done wonders for the muscles, he obviously can't do anything structural (which he's said from the start)--and with new x-rays showing a height difference of 3.3 cms between hips, it's obviously something structural, so give me a refernce to a chiropractor.

3. If one more person asks me why I can't stand with feet together and both legs straight, I will hit them because I'm paying them to answer that.

I also said that if I need to have the surgery, great, let's do it tomorrow, but I was worried that if they replaced the hip joint, how are they going to fix the hip height difference? Will it fix the difference? The doctor said she thought so, yes, to a degree, but then I'd probably need orthotics in both shoes to be completely level.

And that, my friends, is where I draw the fucking line. My argument is that this is a functional leg length disparity, caused by some incident, not a genetic disparity there from birth. I never needed orthotics before, I never had a problem walking or dancing or running away from the office when I should have been at work. I wore shiny red high-heeled shoes with pride and flair and without inserts, and I intend to do so again. I think she was a little taken aback when I said no, I would not be doing that, I would be having my hips aligned and then we'd see if I even needed the operation at all.

This morning I started researching chiropractors. I found one who sounded good so I shot him off an email bitching explaining my woes. Within an hour, he'd replied:

Yes the chiropractic adjustment can help for the hip problems. If there is a lot of arthrosis in the hip joint, you might still need the operation, but as you said the more the joints are moving the better the outcome. If the arthrosis is not so much the adjustments might even be able to avoid an operation.

No medals for guessing who I now have an appointment with.

I will party all night in my red high heels yet. Just you watch me.

P.S. Please keep your fingers crossed and pray very, very hard that Mother Humpback and her baby make it under the Golden Gate. They're so close!

Get...

Get your sunnies out! Not all that long ago, I was whining wondering where summer was, knowing full well we had another 2-3 months before it arrived in full force but bugger me dead, it's here! 28 degrees today, everyone smiling and happy. Oh, I know I know I know it's too early in the year to be this warm but if only you could see it here. After a long, dark winter, the horse chestnuts are in full bloom, the geraniums are spilling over balconies, my lavender plants are reaching for the sky. Of course, the tulips only lasted a week before melting away...

Get this attitude. I asked Jenny to find a retouch place for a skirt of mine that needs a new zip, because I don't know any places in my neighborhood and she's got a few near her. So she tried to....but they said it had cat hair on it and refused to take it until she'd washed it. What they don't know is that it was washed--even washing machines are no match for my 2 moggies, who shed more and more as they age. Lemme tell you something. I could have a package delivered, shrinkwrapped and bound in tape, prepared in a vaccuum, open it 2 miles away from my home, and there'd be cat hair in it. Anyway, tant pis, no business for that mob. Instead, Jenny took it to a place in the 16th near our work where no one even blinked. They've no doubt seen everything here in Paris's "upscale" west, where the street I work on is an obstacle course because people here are too important to pick up their dog's shit.

Get your gangster on. My oh-so-tough mum and her cousin. There is no hope for this family.

Get here PDQ! At this time every year, I'm awaiting the arrival of the latest Sookie Stackhouse paperback. Amra's already read and loved Definitely Dead, commenting on one of the many aspects I admire about Charlaine Harris's writing, and that is that she does what's best for the story, not what's best for her ego. I've found that too often in a series, the writer won't let characters go when they should, resulting in the destruction of the character's believability. Harris has never been overly sentimental, which has made for some damn fine characters and plot twists. Read her Shakespeare series for a real kick-ass heroine who doesn't want people to love her but lives with such integrity that you have to love her anyway.

Get outta town. 20€ on the TGV to Switzerland during summer. 25€ to Milan. Uh-oh.

Little bitta this, little bitta that

First, we have 3 non-blondes:
At the back is today's gorgeous birthday girl, my mum's cousin Merri, and in front are my brother and mother. Of course, they're naturally blond, and I'm naturally L'Oréal Récital Rouge Foncé. One of nature's endless mysteries. (Oh, and yeah, must I mention that Merri's daughter is Mad Cuz Jacqui, who happens to be a hairdresser.)

I've braved the chilly morning once more with orange Birkenstocks and a white kurta, Nature's Gate sunblock slathered on in the hopes of enticing summer to come out and play. I swear to God, last year's summer (and all my lovely visitors: Tamara, Keris, Narissa, Tim, Beth & family) feels like a decade ago. I swooned with delight to get up at 6.30 this morning to see a faint glow filtering in through the bathroom window. Soon, please, soon! Oh yeah, it's not helping that I'm listening to this all-disco station out of LA, and they keep playing Donna SUMMER.

Which reminds me: That bloody frog with a blog (aka the fabulously gorgeous Mickelino) has dared, nay, ordered me to send him an audio sample of me singing. Obviously he has no inkling of what he's let himself in for. I'm trying to decide: Don't Cry Out Loud, Take It To The Limit, or something Kylie. Suggestions?

Grateful that the work compadres have rallied. Yes, I'll admit it, I'm a total SOOK when it comes to hospitals. The last time I was in, I was 21 and had to have a sunspot removed from my lip. I'm still wondering why I agreed to general anaesthetic for that one--actually, I probably asked for it, because I can't bear the thought of someone operating on me when I'm awake--because it really knocked me around. But that night there was a party going on at home, with the mad McKechnies*, and my stepfather making his world's best (I don't care if you think yours is, his was!) spag bog, and I was determined to be there. So I blubbered until the hospital staff let me go. It wasn't just the party, it was my own bed, I just wanted to be in my own bed. The thought of having to be in a French hospital scares me more than the thought of an op, and so I'm ever so thrilled that some of my French colleagues have offered to come with me when I'm admitted and visit to make sure it's all okay. And an American colleague has offered to pic me up some undies from Victoria's Secret so I can feel extra sexy as I hobble around on crutches with my ass sticking out of the hospital gown. Who loves ya, baby!!

*Spelling, Mum?

Fun stuff: Meg Cabot's a wonderful writer and she's posted a funny entry about her arrival in Germany. And this one's for you, Antipo (you, too, Stella!). I know you love people who post pics of fluffy kittens to their blogs ;-)