Official Notice

I did not--repeat, DID NOT--know Oprah had chosen One Hundred Years of Solitude for her book club when I put it into my answer to Natalie's interview questions. I mean, I'm glad lots more people will read it, and it will be republished, and all that. But I feel sorta the way I did when I had E, and gave her what I thought was a fairly unique, old-fashioned name, and only AFTERWARDS found out that it was the #1 name in the country for girls. It's like I've been robbed of my ability to be quirky and unique and interesting, even when I'm actually trying. Woe es me.

But, speaking of Oprah, it made me realize...I can't believe I forgot to put Steinbeck on my list of favorite authors. Not so much East of Eden, though I liked it, certainly. But oh my goodness. The Grapes of Wrath. That had to be one of the most brilliantly painful reading experiences of my life. The final scene is one of the most disturbing images I've ever had to grapple with, and I've carried it with me ever since. Powerful. And so, so good.

On another note entirely...four chapters. By Monday. Four. None of which are quite finished. And N's birthday party is tomorrow, so little to no work will get done then. Which, of course, is why I'm typing an entry right now, since clearly, this will magically make large chunks of text appear in the blank spaces of my book, right?

It's also no doubt why I'm having this huge angsty depression right now about not being able to be a stay at home mom--or at least a mom who writes her book from home but doesn't have to hold down a job and worry about money at the same time. Sometimes, the resentment factor is huge. Huge. I'm sure it didn't help that my best work friend left on Thursday...quit, in fact, to stay home with her two kids. Did I mention the resentment? And that it's huge. Yeah, I thought I had.

Back to work I go...