a long delayed-post

My stomach is pleasantly full of free barbeque, I'm fighting off the siren call of a nap, and it's Friday. All in all, it's been a superb week. Why?

I took a book sabbatical, and man, it has been good. I polished silver, downloaded free yoga podcasts, spent two hours weeding the garden, and cleaned the house more thoroughly than I usually do. I folded mountains of laundry; I cooked one of the 2+ pound steaks I bought at Whole Foods in Birmingham last weekend and made mashed potatoes for my duly appreciative husband. I have slept like I was drowning every night. It's been delicious.

And now it's time to get back to work. Last act of procrastination: updating the blog.

We've had a ton of rain in the last two days, and the spindly tomato plants we bought from the high school's greenhouse need attention. That'll be this evening, right after we gt interviewed by the paper about our main street purchase. But our squashes and cucumbers and melons have begun poking through, and I've reseeded the herbs that didn't come up. Here's some shots of the corn and the lettuce, as well as my panty panty dogs, who are tired of being walked in the rain.











Wimps.

Last weekend cost a fortune in gas but it was fab; I traveled the 3+ hours to spend the night with Stinkerina, aka Daffodilchild, and she indulged her country mouse of a best friend by taking me to a Whole Foods that made my heart shudder. And then we got up at 6.40 am for the Junior League's annual sale, which is *un*believable. I brought the truck (hence the fortune in gas), but look at our new dining room chairs! I have to replace the fabric, but what a steal, and handsome to boot.





Not to mention this cool thing which I love that cost $2 and now houses sewing/yarn supplies (the bottom half is empty awaiting K.) and is shockingly well made:



And this mirror, too big for this space, but when I put it on K's dresser he began preening and ordered me to keep it there. "I like it," he said, turning his head to the side. "It reflects such beautiful things."





Also an old chair and stool, which are not camera-ready, but lovely nonetheless. Stinkie and I had a great time, manuevered the truck safely, and ate at IHOPs to celebrate. Good times always with that girl; she starts law school in June!

This weekend, we'll be at the building a fair bit, and we plan to run up to Memphis to go to Costco. Big times in our small town. It's going to be great.

she said no--but!

I just got the nicest rejection of my life.


After apologizing for the delay of a *month* since I sent my full manuscript (a month is nothing. three months is industry standard.) i received the following:

Part of the reason for the delay is that this is one of the few manuscripts I've received in the past few months that I've read from start to finish. I was very impressed with the quality of the writing - it's far better than most of the material that crosses my desk. I also thought your protagonists were extremely well developed. It's tough to pull off two different point of views in first person, but you do it admirably well. It's with real regret, then, that I've got to admit that I think I'd have a tough time placing this. Basically, one of the most common comments I get these days from editors is that a book is "too quiet." This project is wonderfully written, but I"m not sure it has the needed high-concept hook or premise to be able to stand out from the crowd.

Alexe, I know that you mention in your letter that this is the first of many projects. I would love to work with you in the future, and I hope you'll keep me in mind for any new material. Also, if you're ever looking for someone to bounce ideas off of, I'm happy to help out. I do think you're a really talented writer, and I'd love to stay in touch.


That, at this stage of the game, seems downright encouraging.

Friday

I have a whole rant prepared about the American liberal every-child-should-go-to-college mindset which is flooding the marketplace with liberal arts majors who carry massive amounts of loans while skilled trades go ahollering for well-trained plumbers, mechanics, and the like, but I'm too busy to write it.

We close on the Main Street building at 3; I have an interview with a lady who bakes cakes at 1; I'm driving to Alabama directly afterwards.

So peace out chickies, and have a blessed weekend.

hear ye, hear ye

Despite the random ranter on the "God Stuff" post below, K. and I spend a great deal of time expending energy on various projects, to prove to ourselves that we can affect our immediate world.

Hence, the living room (and our bedroom, and the guest room, but you only get pics of one).

There is something so exhilerating-- nay, intoxicating-- about moving everything ones owns around in completely new patterns. Why can't the TV go on the mantel, and the couch over here?

It makes the whole house seem fresh, and it's called immediate gratification, my friends. Go forth and move your furniture.

*click to make bigger, as i had to use photobucket and their pics are so teensy; also, please note the blue chair, which i slipcovered myself!*

oh--

and the peas, beans, and corn have indeed begun to emerge. I'm on strict orders not to do anything to them.

updating

There's no need to badmouth the agent, y'all. It's fine. Rejection is part of the game; I bounce back after a day.

Alice and Sam continues....I want to be done drafting by the end-of-July beach vacation, and then spend a few months revising and cleaning it up, etc. I can't seem to make myself revise as I draft.

In other news, I got voted to be on the Board of Directors for this Main Street organization we're involved in. I'm dead excited, and K. is dead jealous. He's the chairman of the economic restructuring committee though, so he doesn't have much to whine about. The whole thing kicks off in June, and I'm hopeful it'll make a real difference.

onwards!

running on faith, despite unseasonably cold weather and a jewish lady in new york

The sun has finally come out, and despite the fact we were wakened by Dido being sick and that a literary agent said my book was superficial and predictable, life is good.

Except the literary agent thing. Ye Gods, I feel like the woman socked me in the stomach. No matter; 'Alice and Sam' continues.

We are having people over for dinner tonight, which means I have to clean the kitchen floor. Light-gray linoleum; why, oh why?

But the sun is out, and the smallest tomato plant thriving, and surely the peas and the beans will poke out any day now.

Surely.

We just became Mac owners!

According to everyone else, my days of crashing computers and fried motherboards are over.





We just purchased a used Imac G4 desktop computer. It's the extra bit of fany that K, being a boy, is drawn towards; 1 GhZ, plenty of ram, a superdrive, speakers, mouse, and keyboard included, software, 17'' screeen, blah blah blah.





Here's what we both like: it doesn't have a box! Here's a picture:






I'm pretty excited. What with shipping, insurance and all, we paid $80 more than we really wanted to-- but since we lowball everything, we still paid the price of a supercheap dell laptop.

Wish us luck.

God stuff

Today, I spent my morning walk telling God that I did not understand his plan, but that I believe he has one.

God probably did not need to hear this. I did.

Yesterday, K. and I tracked down the owner of an empty house high on a hill outside of town. It's in the city limits and within walking distance of downtown, but it's on the outskirts, with a long dirt road leading up to it, a bofunk white house that seems to be a bungalow added onto in a higglepiggle fashion, a fair amount of pretty land, a beautiful leaning barn, and a heck of a view. We both really like it.

The lady who owns it moved in with her son in a different town after her husband died over a year ago. We did not speak to her, but her daughter-in-law assures us that she has no interest in selling.

It might not be so frustrating if this was not the fourth empty place we've made offers on. And people, this is not a big town; we're about out of houses.

It's been really hard to fall in love with the town and be ready and willing to commit and not be able to find a place to call our own. That was the major allure of Mississippi, after all; a place to settle, to plant a garden, to get chickens, and instead we have about the same size yard in our rented house that we did in DC.

I can see God's hand in how we got here; I just have a hard time understanding why the next step is taking so long. Which is why I keep saying to myself that God has a plan, and I do not understand it, but it is there.

Man, am I impatient.

some indelicate things

1. Shadow ate something and puked EIGHT times all over the house two days ago. She feels better and I wouldn't have blogged on her if she hadn't been lying at my feet FARTING for the last two days.

It smells terrible.

2. A long long time ago *about a month), K. and I were at a social event along with a lot of other people. As well as an orangey tan girl with flashy jewelry and boobs pushed up to HERE, framed by her long dyed-blond tresses. All the fakeness aside-- she was pretty cute. So I reacted with genuine jealousy when I saw K. staring at her...you knows.

"I can't believe you looked at her hoo-haws," I said, and punched him.
He rubbed his arm and looked at me. "It's like staring at a guy who had caught his penis in his zipper," he said. "It's funny, indecent, and you're not sure why private parts are hanging out."

Novel News

This is a heard-already post for some, but:

Novel 1 is out with a few agents in full and hopefully luring more agents in with query letters that have been sent out. Getting a no or yes will most likely take months.

Novel 2 is started. I'm in the honeymoon phase where it seems really easy. I have sixteen single-spaced pages so far.....150+ to go.

in other working girl news: I am covering a literary salon at Morgan Freeman's estate in two weeks for the newspaper in Oxford. I have been contacted about writing a farmer's market column for the alternative free paper in Oxford. I wrote my third column for the paper in Oxford. And I am writing the Talk of the Valley feature every week for the Herald, as well as covering the Planning Commission and the Main Street Association. In an hour, I'm going to interview a Baptist preacher who has lived in Africa and the Ukraine.

Plus the pheasant man's wife called me today and said she'd showed her boss the article and the boss had said "that's like something I'd read in the NY Times" so I'm feeling all full of myself.

So that's what I do all day long, peeps. As well as walk the dogs and fanatically clean the kitchen floor (light-gray linoleum; drives me bat-shit).

Because we have a nine-month growing season

K. and I spent the weekend putting in a garden!

We rented the world's worst rototiller:

We picked it up in Oxford early Saturday morning. We then went to Home Depot and spent twenty dollars on 20 forty-pound bags of topsoil and compost, seven dollars at Wal-Mart on seeds, and K. bought himself a pretty dandy and pretty blue wheelbarrow, as he'd been hankering for one.

Then we came home, and I picked up leaves and talked to my sister while K. spent THREE HOURS rototilling the vegetation-packed yard that we'd picked to be our garden.

I cannot emphasize what a superb job he did.

Sunday after church, K. went over to a friend's house and returned laden with free bamboo:

He then spent the afternoon making the fence that my heart had desired for the whopping sum of nothing, as he already had the screws holding the thing together.

There are no pictures of me because I rototilled the plot again, working in the top soil and compost that I dumped on it. Then I raked, leveled, and shoveled, making paths and small raised beds. It sounds easy but it took a long, long, long, arm-quivering time.

But:

We are both very pleased with ourselves and each other. However, lest you think we worked in blissful companionship, let's have a brief transcript of a few conversations:

K. : You want to listen to the same Cd you've been listening to for months?

A.: I hate Prairie Home Companion! We ALWAYS LISTEN TO IT! It's MY TURN!

blissful music-filled interval.

K.: You'd rather listen to nothing than P.H.C.?

A.: How do you not hear "Killing me Softly?"

K.: I can't hear a thing.

A.: FINE. (flounces off, turns music obnxiously loud and tracks dirt into the house.) Better?

Later:

K.: I think we should put the gate next to the hose.

A.: no. It should be next to the kitchen, for easy access.

Argument ensues, which I win, since I am clearly right-- the hose can go under/through the fence easily.

K.: Fine. You win, since I have a boss telling me what to do all the time.

A.: I am not your boss.

K.: Yes, Master.

A.: I AM SO GOING TO BLOG ON YOU.

And so on.

chasing the chicken man

well, everyone has convinced me. When my ship comes in, we'll get a used Mac. I like the sound of the Mac Minis but not sure it'd be worth it as we need a keyboard and monitor anyway.

So far, the big success of my week was finding my own talk of the valley subject. Here's how it went: a guy named Jack told me a few weeks ago about someone who raises exotic chickens and sends them all over the country. He'd seen chicken man at the post office. I called the county extension agent, asking if he knew chicken man's name, and he said no, but directed me to the feed store. I called the feed store, and lo and behold, there is an exotic chicken man, but he lives out in Taylor and didn't sound like the guy I'm looking for, since Taylor has its own post office. So, reluctantly, sure I would hit a dead wall, I called Water Valley's post office. Renee said sure, that was J.T., but it is pheasants, not chickens. I thanked them, hung up, and found that J.T. was not listed in the phone book. Sheepishly called the post office again, asked if they had contact info, and got J.T.'s cell phone number.

He's going to give me a tour of his pheasant farm on Friday for next week's paper. It's good to live in a small town.

woe is me

I started the new novel (Sam and Alice, I'll be calling it) yesterday, and today, the laptop on loan from my mother after my old one's motherboard imploded broke. Perhaps it can be fixed-- I'll find out.

Why is it so hard to keep a computer going? This is what I want: 1: to write 2: to have speedy/reliable internet. No games, no music, no videos.

I have burned through a Toshiba, a Hitchachi (back when laptops were EXPENSIVE), a Dell desktop (that lasted all of 3 yrs, the current record), a Dell laptop, and now this, my mother's, a refurbished laptop that I have been using for three months and never moved from my desk. These computers ranged between $500 and $3000, and none of them were problem-free.

K. wants me to use a typwriter. I am open-minded, but I need internet access, and I do like being able to fix things before printing them out.

*big, big, frustrated sigh*

the conference for the book

Well, I spent too much money on this stupid writing workshop thing that everyone told me was so worthwhile, and I realized something important: talking about writing pisses me off. So I could make a case that the money was worth it, as it erased any desire to enter a pricey MFA program. But as I already knew I didn't want to pay thousands of dollars to talk to other people about writing, the workshop was a complete loss.

It's been a frantic week, and my mood has been less than stellar. So to be here on Friday morning, with the window open, sitting at the computer after taking a long walk with the girls (aka Shadow and Dido) and figuring out the niceties of my new novel's plot, is a complete and unadulterated treat.

I'm going to start drafting the new novel on March 30th, in one week, because I'm tired of not writing. In that one week, I have a crapload of character development, research, and plot outlining to do, so that hopefully I can write this one once or twice rather than four times.

Maybe I can get it done by the time I turn twenty-five.

this weekend, I

was not sick.

went on two long long long walks with the dogs and one with my husband.

went to church and grocery shopping.

did fifteen loads of laundry (only slightly exaggerating) in our brand-spanking new frontloading washer and dryer.

read a good book.

watched a foreign film.

sucessfuly put family drama and professional challenges out of my head.

and made....my first step towards re-slipcovering the whole house! This blue is actually really vibrant turquoise, and this old armchair won't know itself when I get done with it. K. helped me a bunch-- he's very good at understanding how things should be-- but I made this my very self with the thirty-year-old sewing machine I bought over a year ago in the hopes of doing just this.

To be honest, I am very, very proud of myself.

the zipper ain't so pretty...before we got thread that matched...but no one will see it anyway!

this place rocks

On Thursday night, K. and I hopped in an SUV which--despite all my principles-- was shockingly comfortable for the 6 adults it contained-- and drove with our landlords and the local bank president and wife to the Wildlife Tasting Banquet.

That's right, folks.

It cost a dollar a person to get in, was held at the county agricultural place which contains an indoor arena for rodeos, and chili and Brunswich stew were all you can eat. The wildlife dishes were brought by sundry citizens to compete for cash prizes given to best-tasting and most original.

The venison calzones were delicious; I didn't go near the gator eggs with crackers. Sadly, there was no possum this year.

I have a dweam

Perhaps it's spring fever, but everyone seems to be afflicted with home improvement projects (Bluepoppy).

Last Sunday, I looked at the stark lines of our porch and took myself to Wal-Mart.

A few hours and less than fifteen dollars later:

Can you see the fishing-line trellis? How about here?

Within the last two days, four out of the twenty morning glory seeds have come up. This makes me ecstatic, even though they currently look like plant versions of baby dragons:

But picture a wall of leafy green punctuated with blue and white morning glories, filtering light to a place to drink coffee and watch sunsets.... can you see it? Shadow can.

oh--

and I finished the novel. Started working on the next one today!

to be so blessed, or, I want to be that zen

Our new-place grace period seems to be drawing to a close. In just over two months, we've become a big part of the community down here, and the days fill up fast. More on that later.

Yesterday morning, my aunt Jennie called and said that she and her family were flying from Orlando to Louisiana, and so they might drop in for a night. When I say flying, I mean flying: Jennie flew planes for the Red Cross in Africa, and her French husband flies both planes and helicopters. They arrived in their plane around four-- a sporty small thing with blue stripes-- and laden with baby girls.

Jennie-- who is only 11 years older than me-- married a few Junes ago and promptly had four children (almost 6; almost 5; almost 3; 8 months). After stopping for folding chairs from K's office and diapers at a Walgreens, they came out to the house and ate homemade pizza and salad with us. It was delightful, although when they left, we all collapsed into bed. I have never seen such a good-humored family, and the control-freak in me is in utter awe.

I WANT TO BE THAT ZEN.

But enough about me-- look at my cousins!

Me with the eldest:

The second, named for our grandmother:
Jennie with the third and fourth:
and a blurry picture of the papa:
They flew out this morning, after commanding the town's largest suite.

I am very conscious of not being a mother now, and am rethinking a short story I finished where the pregnant mother is overwhelmed by one child. Because they have FOUR under the age of six!

"Satisfaction is an emotion that captures the uniquely human need to impart meaning to one's activities," Berns concludes. "While you might find pleasure by happenstance--winning the lottery, possessing the genes for a sunny temperament, or having the luck not to live in poverty--satisfaction can arise only by the conscious decision to do something. And this makes all the difference in the world, because it is only your own actions for which you may take responsibility and credit."

--Gregory Berns, "Satisfaction", taken from here .

This makes a great deal of sense to me.

socially speaking

K. coaxed me into signing up for his company's soccer team. He'll be playing as well. I'm not nervous about my ability (which is probably pretty darn low)-- more about having a team sports commitment. Historically, despite the fact I've played lacrosse, basketball, soccer, and rugby, the last time I enjoyed team sports was...well, soccer. When I was about ten. No practices, just Sat am games, which we invariably lost, with all the public school kids with whom I got to hang out.

Maybe this will be fun.

We've gotten pretty used to having all of our friends long-distance. On weekends when we're home alone, we cook up something good, read on the couch, or watch downloaded sitcoms or Sherlocks Holmes dvds.

On Thursdays, I catch a ride in with my elderly retired friends and meet K. at Thacker Mountain radio, where we join the community in watching an entertainment show that's broadcast on air (super-fun-- lots of good music, authors, and whatnot).

On Fridays, I meet the Literary Club at the drugstore and drink coffee while gossiping with the retired women at high volume.

On Sundays, we head to church, and in the afternoon, I potter while K. plays volleyball with that rag-tag group over at Poprock Canyon.

We have lots of friendly acquaintances here, but no true friends our own age-- probably because when we meet people our age, they're living with their parents, heading to late-night concerts, already have tons of friends, and are busy anyway doing whatever groovy twenty somethings do. A couple we invited for dinner three months ago finally invited us over, but had inadvertently double-booked themselves, so they ended up rescinding their own invitation. People seem so very busy to me.

I'd like to find some people with whom we could have bonfires and howl at the (early evening) moon, but for now, it's mostly us. And on Saturday nights, when my hubby wanders around in his torn pajamas and asks if I want popcorn, that's more than alright.

A week of pictures

A home-made and uber-cheap Valentine's day:


The dawning of K's 26th birthday:

We headed west through the delta to see the Missisippi River:

And because the water recedes wherever we go, we had to ford a ten-foot area and walk across hundreds of yards of sand and pebbles to actually stand on the corner of the river, on which there were barges going up and down. Apparently, the part we walked across had been covered in river water three weeks ago. Which would have made it look a whole lot more impressive. Nonetheless, the dogs had a ball.

Upon arriving home, K. took out the clippers. We've been waiting until it warmed up, and this coming week is supposed to be in the sixties, hence:

And for funsies:

good times

While it's chilly, it's also a sunny Friday.

K's heading home with stacks of books (I'm reading Algonquin-published authors, as I have the biggest publishing crush on them), we're going to clean the house, and then eat tomato soup and steak and READ.

That's what we call good times.

because...

I'm interviewing my first person today.

Why I shouldn't be nervous:

--I've had time to prepare

-- the editor of the newspaper says that "he wouldn't know where to begin" so I can write it "however I want", including length

-- he's an elderly man who loves to talk

-- he lives two steets over from me so all I have to do is walk over


Why I am nervous

-- because EVERYONE in town reads this paper. Example? Well, approximately an hour-and-a-half after yesterday's paper came out (the one introducing my new feature with a picture of me), the post lady recognized our dogs who were barking in the windows 30 ft up a hill from said picture.

-- because I have to majorly fake my way through talking with people I don't know.

-- and lastly, mostly-- why give up a good reason to be nervous? That's not what nervous people do.

natterings

What's with the lack of blogging lately, yo? Elbows into the sides of everyone on my links page (with the exception of Bluepoppy and Farmgirl).

**************

I've powered through Chapter 10; 6 chapters to go before my first novel is officially done (I'm aiming for March 1st). Of course, if I'm lucky and someone wants to publish it, I'll have to revise it probably 18 more times.

**************

K's birthday is this Sunday, and I think I'm more excited than he is. Last week he called me from work and said "Give me a reason I can't go to this conference with S--- next weekend."



I said "because it's your BIRTHDAY!!!!!"



He laughed and said, "Right. That'll do."



He forgot his own birthday. Man, I'm fully aware that mine rolls around in slightly under seven months, and if past trends continue, I'll be insufferable for the preceding three months.



I got him presents today. They are all going to be surprises this year, unlike Christmas (which was so fab I couldn't resist telling him), and last year's (don't order something a month ahead of time because that's way too long to keep your mouth shut).

*******************

Here's the pic that's coming out in this week's Herald announcing the upcoming feature (the one where I interview people). Note the dog drool on my shirt, courtesy of the great white beast that is my mother's dog. I couldn't actually open my eyes much, as I was staring straight into the sun for the fortieth time, since Sweetie McSweetie took forty pictures before this one (I call him Sweetie McSweetie, and he calls me Spendy McSpend-a-Lot. Though not when it concerns his birthday).

Good news

I went down to the local newspaper on Monday, and I'm their new features writer (on a freelance basis).

In every week's issue, I'll be writing a profile/interview with interesting locals. My first subject hand-typed an autobiography, available in the reference section of the local lobrary.

It is AMAZING. Not only because he's had an interesting life, but also because he provides a clear, first-hand account of life in Mississippi in the 1920s. The econonomy, the social structure, race-- it's all in there. This stuff needs to be part of the Library of Congress, because it's priceless. I'm meeting him next week, and I think it'll be great.

Talk to ye elders, people! And elders, write your stuff down! Think of it as community service.

San Francisco, Take 2

Sunday I hassled with the concierge for a bit, and after some bureaucratic nonsense and a quick trip to my cousin's house (I'd stayed there Thursday night as K. was still in conference-mode) to retrieve the coat, glasses, face wash, and contact case I'd left, we headed over the Golden Gate Bridge northwards.

Marin County's beauty was only slightly marred by me hollering at K. to slow down so I could take a darn picture.

We arrived at the Muir National Forest after lots of map-reading and amicable bickering...one of the very steep roads made even K. nervous because it had no guard rail.

Upon arriving at the park, we paid and then in true American style, we ate. Organic tomato soup with gorganzola cheese and super-good trail mix.

Much happier, we than wandered into the woods, feeling a wee bit out of place as everyone else had fancy hiking shoes and backpacks.

After an hour and a bit, we hopped back in the car and headed east along a bay and then north into Napa valley. K. wouldn't stop since we were due at aunt Mimi's, so all grapevines are blurred.

(The yellow stuff is mustard.)

Napa valley was beautiful, but kind of a disappointment after all the press. I didn't realize that the vineyards would be so close to one another, right off the main road, like a vinicultural main street.

St. Helena, however, was fab. While now priced out the wazoo, it was an actual little town, with 19th century buildings, a quaint downtown, and beautiful stonework. We lollygagged a bit-- I ordered a whole gallon of olive oil from a store where we chugged paper-cupped samples of the different varieties-- and K. got very upset with the misleading public bathroom sign.

We then got back in the car, and drove the three roads out to Aunt Mimi, aka Seavey Vineyard (seaveyvineyard.com).

The last picture (above) is of the winery at aunt Mimi's. Although we tromped around the vineyard (which is beautiful-- 40 acres in vines, all of it steep) and admired the grassfed cattle that had wandered among the vines, we didn't take any more pictures. But imagine a room, a concrete vault really, with row upon row of french oak barrels, stained red around the middle. A most incredible smell. Her two small dogs, one of whom trotted in during dinner preparations with a dead bird. The best chocolate tart thingie I've ever eaten.

After a really pleasant dinner, we drove back to San Francisco, dropped off the rental car (thereby leaving all the stuff I'd retrieved that morning from my cousin's), and walked the eight blocks to the hotel, passing an Asian prostitute with one exposed breast as she hung out on the corner.

Quite a trip.

not mine, but still:

the divine economy of salvation.

isn't that a great title?

Mississippi

Just now, I looked up from my desk through the window to see a black man on a four wheeler pulling a flat-bed trailer with a bathtub on it.

It made me smile.