Tuesday, October 31, 2006
      ( 9:04 AM ) Rebecca  
Yes, I have been a horrible blogger lately…mostly because every time I sit down to write something it simply come out as whiny, self absorbed complaining. There is not much to say, people, since I can’t write about WORK or LOVE. I mean, what else is there in life?

Yeah, I talk to you about writing, but that’s boring.

Sometimes I think about writing about WORK or LOVE and then I realize I can’t do it so then I don’t write anything, and…

These are the perils of being a celebrity blogger such as me.

To summarize my glamorous life:
-working too hard
-sleeping a lot
-reading a lot
-exercising a lot
-wearing sweatpants a lot
-writing the worst novel ever on the face of the planet
-drinking too much red wine
-fighting the urge to call people I should not call
-dreaming about a life where I write children’s stories in pajamas

OK so I mentioned WORK and LOVE in there but the references are so oblique, so vague, you can’t really tell who or what I’m thinking about right? What my grand plans and my great heartbreaks are? No you can’t! I’m a master of obfuscation.

Anyhoo, after that completely boring blog entry devoid of any real content, I would like to hereby announce that if you happen to be anywhere nearby the lovely town of TACOMA, WASHINGTON on this Saturday, November 4, you can see me! In person! Reading from my book! And talking about it! And shaking your hand and kissing you because I LOVE you so much for coming to see me and for buying my book. And oh, by the way, if you are NOT going to be in lovely Tacoma this weekend, you can always request a signed bookplate from me and I will send you one!

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Wednesday, October 25, 2006
      ( 8:58 AM ) Rebecca  
All through this overly sunny week, the Kasey Chambers song "On a Bad Day" has been running through my head:

“Every time my tears
Have ever fallen
I keep 'em in my pocket
For a rainy day
So when it's pouring
I take them outside
I let the rain start washing
My tears away”

Then it poured down rain yesterday and instead of washing all my tears away, it just got me really, really wet.
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Monday, October 23, 2006
      ( 8:43 AM ) Rebecca  
Well. I have not much to say on this grayish about-to-turn sunny morning except, uh, bleh.

OK, OK, that is a terrible attitude to have. Must cheer up. Must appreciate life in all it’s fleeting beauty. Must go back to psychiatrist and get prescription of little pink pills.

I was thinking, this weekend, as I strolled around sunny Portland, trying, and at times, succeeding to feel good, and at other times feeling immensely weighed down by the load of nervous tension that sits constantly on my shoulders these days, about all my various male friends and beaux who inhale the green stuff on a near-constant basis.

Just last weekend, I hung out with a male friend (not a beau) who, in his early fifties, pulled out a pipe several times a day—which shocked me, since the last time I saw this kind of behavior was in mid-twenties males. The men I’ve dated in the last year have smoked three to four times a week on average, if not more. Those of you who’ve read the novel know that Rachel has her most enduring relationship of the book with a charming stoner, who, on their first date, proceeds to get high in front of her.

“Sexy Boy... took the bong from Ganja King, settled back in the beanbag, and inhaled. Deeply. He suddenly looked like the fat, lazy caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, sitting on his big leaf and sucking on his hookah. Grotesque and lethargic, his eyes half-closed as he inhaled.”

I swing between disapproving and semi-tolerant of pot-smoking as a regular habit but then I also wonder, who am I to disapprove? I drink a glass of wine every night, take Xanax when I fly, Trazadone to help me sleep, and when my demons start to crowd in on me, I get the shrink on speed dial for a hit of Celexa. Is that really any “better” than smoking pot – except for the whole legality question?

We all know what my main dependency is, and that is men in all their stoned glory. But never mind about that. I’m tired of discussing such topics. What you really should know is this, and that is my Hugo House appearance has been postponed until further notice. It will definitely happen in the next couple months, but it’s not happening tonight. So stay tuned for info on that.

Oh, and if you are just dying to have me sign copies of your book and can’t wait for the international tour, I do have bookplates I can sign and send you! Simply email me with your address and I will sign it for you with my illegible signature and have one of my army of assistants, paid for by the gobs of royalties that are pouring in, stuff it in an envelope and mail it your way.

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Wednesday, October 18, 2006
      ( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca  
Finally we have a little rain around here! Sheesh. No doubt it will turn to sun later today, as Seattle has suddenly become a sunny sort of city. Sun, sun, sun, every f*cking day. I want my money back! You can’t even wear a wool sweater around here because by early afternoon, it’s summer all over again.

Except, wait, in the summer I was actually in a good mood. A deluded good mood, it’s true. But now that my favorite season has arrived, I’m in a slump. An overworked, underslept, tension-laced, under-caffeinated slump.

Whatever. Some new shoes would help. So would a stay at a good old fashioned sanitorium/spa somewhere. I swear, if I were Lindsey Lohan or Winona Ryder, I would be checking myself into the hospital for exhaustion right now, looking very pretty yet wan as hot young doctors came by to pump me up with vitamins and hot muscley Yoga instructors gave me daily private instruction so that I could recover my peace of mind.

In writing news, I am nearing the end of a rough draft of my “camp novel.” “Camp” not in the sense that it is campy funny, because really this novel is anything except funny, except in how bad it is, but “camp” in the sense that it takes place at a summer camp, or was supposed to. The story only really took off once I started writing flashbacks that take place in New York City between the heroine and her hunky non-committal (ex)boyfriend, so who knows where it will end up. Probably in the virtual trash can of my computer.

But, as we all know, National Novel Writing Month is coming right up, and this year, I am going to finish, damn it! I was a winner back in 2002, when I wrote the first draft of BreakupBabe. Each successive year I’ve attempted but failed because of book-related business that got in the way. But now that I have no book business to attend to (except watching BreakupBabe climb the charts, ha ha) and appearing at the Auburn Supermall, I can write another novel for Nanowrimo. Perhaps a sequel to BreakupBabe, sans the blog?

Speaking of which, if you have ideas for a sequel let me know! What should happen to dear old Rachel anyway?

For you Seattleites, just a reminder that I will be appearing at Richard Hugo House next Monday, October 23rd, along with my pal, the wise and witty author Diane Mapes. See you there, RIGHT?

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Friday, October 13, 2006
      ( 2:39 PM ) Rebecca  
My struggle to be a “morning person” continues.

Typical morning in the life of BB: Alarm goes off at 6:45 a.m., awaking me out of deep slumber and peaceful dreams about hearts in paper bags, etc.

Think, I should get out of bed immediately so as not to waste precious writing time, because if I do, I will never get next novel written, and will die unfulfilled and broken.

Lie there anyway. Think, I’ll skip a shower this morning. It will save 20 minutes. But then my hair will look like crap all day. Debate merits of shower. Think, It is pointless to get up and write anyway, I am such a hack. Look at clock. 6:51 a.m. Six minutes of precious writing time waster. Drag self out of bed in predawn dark feeling like regurgitated dog food.

After shower, stand in front of closet staring at clothes that are hanging higgledy-piggledy. See nothing that I want to wear. Want to lie back down. Slowly take one shirt off hanger. Sniff armpits. Put it on. Realize I want to wear other shirt. Look for it. Don’t find it. Dig through laundry hamper. Find it. Sniff armpits. Ugh. Throw back in hamper. Keep original shirt on. Search listlessly for pants to go with it. No, wore those yesterday. No, the butt looks like a diaper. No, no, no. Put on different shirt entirely. Repeat process until suitable non-smelly, non wrinkly outfit is found, doing everything in near-dark because I can’t stand to have overhead lights on, especially in the morning when they reveal far too much.

Sit on floor and blowdry hair because have no energy to do so standing. Once hair is blow-dried start to feel somewhat better. I am sort of cute. Now feel like dog food, only not regurgitated. Once I leave condo and have coffee, will feel better. But only half a cup of coffee so not as good as I used to feel. Grr. Remember, maybe, to make piece of toast. Finally. Leave condo, hair blow dried, makeup applied, outfit on (perhaps inside out), to get my 1 hour and 10 minutes of writing in.

Drink coffee. Write. Feel somewhat better. Maybe.

Go to work. Slave away. Drink a bunch of alcohol in company of cute boys. Forget problems. Force self into bed at 10 pm so as to be able to get 8.5 hours of sleep and get up before 7 a.m. again.

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Tuesday, October 10, 2006
      ( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca  
Well, yours truly is still funkified, but whatever. Enough whining pour le moment.

On the positive, let’s get high on life side, the fan mail still keeps roaring in like a tidal wave! OK, more like a tiny trickle that comes from your broken faucet, but HEY, it’s great and it slakes my thirst for ATTENTION. Here is my latest favorite.

Hi there. I just finished reading your novel. I purchased it a few months ago as it was recommended to me from amazon.com, however, I just haven't had the time to start reading new books yet. I started it yesterday and now just one day later I've finished it just completely overtaken by the joy I received from the small book. Everything you wrote in the book was captivating. I can't wait for your next book. You are definitely going on the list of one of my favorite authors! Please keep it up.
Your newest fan,

That’s right, mofos, I am spreading peace and joy around the world and don’t you forget it! Perhaps BB should go to Iraq and "entertain" the troops.


In other news, I have some appearances coming out so please check out the Appearances page of my author site to get the deets. You won’t want to miss my star turn at the Auburn Supermall either, Lord no. For you Seattleites, I’ll be doing a talk at Richard Hugo House on October 23 all about how you can get rich and famous writing chick lit just like me so BE THERE.

Now it is time to go sell my soul to the man, you know which man. The short one who wears the same shirt every day. Zoe wrote in to ask about my coworkers and whether they were cute. Why YES, Zoe, they are! There are many do-able honeys at the most successful e-tailer in the world and as soon as I get my chance to dive into another ill-fated office romance and get another bestelling book and more more more fan mail out of it, I will do it, I promise!

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Thursday, October 05, 2006
      ( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca  
Dead people keep showing up in my dreams. The literally dead and the figuratively dead. My father, for example, who died eight years ago. My best friend from childhood who has fallen off the edge of the earth in New Mexico somewhere. My ex boyfriend(s).

Speaking of dreams, I had one not long ago where I cut my own heart out of my body and carried it around all day in a paper bag. Later I put it back in—badly—but well enough. As I carried my beating little heart around in it’s flimsy paper bag, I alternated between matter-of-factness: “Oh, no prob, I’ll just put it back in later,” to horror: “How am I surviving without a heart? What if I lose it? What if it gets infected somehow and I die when I put it back in?”

My father had a heart attack when he was 33and a heart transplant when he was 44.

I haven’t had a heart attack yet, thank God. But I do tear my heart out of my body and hand it out in a paper bag to to every damn cutie pie who walks by. HERE HAVE IT.

Then when it all ends, I stuff it back inside my chest, somewhat the worse for wear but still beating. Miraculously. There’s a new scar, a few years off my life, and one more ghost to haunt my dreams.

How's that for a cheerful start to your day?

Let's see, I am still only drinking half a cup of coffee a day and the trowel is still locked up in a cabinet somewhere.

I am an uptight bundle of nerves and miss old General Celexa. C'est la vie. I'm in a funk and this, too, shall pass.

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My novel BreakupBabe is out! You can buy it here.

Check out my author blog here, and my new personal blog here.

Photo by Bradley Hanson

This blog was the inspiration for my novel. It helped me get through a horrible breakup and kept me entertained for years. But all good things must come to an end. I will recycle oldies but goodies from the archives here, but will blog about about writing here, and about all kinds of other stuff here.

The Nice Peeps Who Link to Me

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