The Great Publisher Hunt

How does one hunt a publisher?

Cue jungle music. I envision myself as some clueless north american tourist asking a local guide for help hunting through treacherous jungle. The guide is suspicious, but once I prove my worth to her, she agrees to take me, so long as I provide the proper equipment. And so now I will picture Julia, in a pith helmet and khaki shorts, leading me through the brush.

And I could continue with this analogy for this entire post because I have no concrete facts to share. The fact of the matter is, when it comes to hunting publishers, well I don't have a clue how it's done. I just stayed in the lodge and drank hot chocolate.

You see the joy of a literary agent is that she knows what she's doing. She knows what to do, who to submit to and what needs to be submitted. She's a smart lady. And so Julia submitted my MS to half a dozen or so publishers. And yes there was some rejection, but I have to say I wasn't too concerned with it. Partly it had to do with my faith in my wonderful agent, and partly because as an actor I had faced so much rejection that I've just stopped taking it personally. Possibly every author should try acting for a year to get accustomed to it. The great thing to me about writing is that, right away, you are being judged on your talent and not something superficial like your appearance (trust me, it is so infuriating being judged simply on one photograph. Have you ever tried to choose the perfect headshot (actually many of you probably have)? It's one of the most stressful decisions. You can't show all the complexities that is you in one single shot. Smile, not smile. Black and white, colour. Hair up, down. Sexy, pretty, cute? All this in one picture that casting directors glance at for less than a second. For only an audition! But I digress.) At any rate, even something as simple as a query letter is akin to that first audition. In fact it's better. In an audition, you can have prepared and prepared, but something within the moment can happen. The director/casting director can yawn during your speech, you could forget your lines. You might be having a bad hair day. But you can devote as much focus and preparation on a query letter, and it will always be the same query letter - the one you wrote at home is the same one the agent/editor receives. Anyway. My point is, I'm used to rejection.

But then suddenly there was interest. And I was in a taxi driving to meet Publisher XYZ. And suddenly I was in a board room sitting around with some lovely individuals talking about . . . my book. My book. The one that I wrote on my laptop in front of the television, or at work, my little book. Talking about plans, about how it might look, about all those things you fantasize about having conversations over. Ooh, and eating brownies.

It was amazing. It was fun!

And then came the offer. And then came the contract. Later on when I feel like I'm allowed to give more details I will tell the story of Publisher XYZ's offer. It's a nice story. And there is a picture to accompany it.

And 4 weeks after signing with my agency I had a book deal. A two book deal!

And it was glorious.

Look Up.

Hey just a quickie. I have changed the name of my blog. Again. I just figured I should honour the fact that I am a writer, not simply a temping actress. So . . . Like the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion; like the siblings in A Series of Unfortunate Events; like Destiny's Child - I have become whole, by becoming three.

Let us all revel in the glory that is now:

THE TEMP, THE ACTRESS and . . . THE WRITER!!

The Agent Acquisition Part 2

And wait.



When we last left our temping actress she was waiting to hear from the lovely Julia from the Darley Anderson agency after having sent her the full MS of her novel.

How long was the wait . . ?

Well I let it go 8 weeks. I counted every one, like a prisoner scratching marks on a wall. Hmm . . . that's a bit melodramatic. Then on the advice of a friend of a friend, a published children's book author, I called to give a gentle nudge, or really just to find out what was going on.

It was possibly one of the most terrifying phone calls I've ever had to make. It actually wound up being pretty civilized. Once I recited my prepared speech (courtesy of the friend of a friend), I was told that Julia would get back to me. That was good enough for me. It wasn't a no, and that's all that mattered. Later that day I got a very friendly email where it turned out that Julia had been quite busy and hadn't finished reading the MS yet, and she would let me know once she had. Thus the waiting began again.

I didn't know it then, but I had only to wait a few days before she called. I could be mistaken, but I believe one of my housemates answered the phone in a silly voice that time. Ah, well. Whatcha gonna do?

Anyway, she liked the book. But? No but. She liked the characters, and the story. But? No, seriously, no but. And wasn't such and such bit really funny. But? But? Oh okay but. But could you cut it by like 10 000 words. Sure, sure, no problem that's only like . . . 26 pages!!! She also asked to shorten the chapters and to create more momentum for the second section. And I in my, Adrienne is an actress and therefore never sounds worried about such requests, replied coolly that that would be more than easy to do.

Hang up phone. It's okay. It's okay. I can do this. I can.

So I decided to give myself a deadline of two weeks. I told mom and dad about the challenge, and we chatted about it. I was pretty determined not to cut any scenes, simply words within scenes. Enter: the focus group.

The Focus Group

A family of three, friends of my parents with a daughter aged 10, the perfect age for my book. They had been given my MS to read, so that I could have the opinion of a real-live kid. This was far more terrifying than even having it in the hands of an agent. I was worried that the book worked for adults, but would its target audience approve? However they proved far more helpful than I had any right to expect. Not only did the daughter enjoy the book (mom read it aloud to her before bed), but both mom and daughter had some absolutely brilliant suggestions, some just general editing comments and others specifically for cutting down the word count. With that help, plus mom and dad, plus me sitting at my computer in front of random reality shows on TV, we cut the piece down.

At first it was easy. A paragraph here, a paragraph there. Then it began to get tricky. I'm not sure if you've noticed, what with my penchant for brackets, but I like to digress in my narrative. At times it's pointless, but it is also a stylistic choice, something that makes the story what it is, and it got tricky determining which asides should go, and which should stay. I fought valiantly for many of them. And many of them stayed. And some were sacrificed to the gods of the delete key. By the end of the two weeks I was cutting single words within sentences. But I did it. I cut 10 000 words. And the funny thing was, upon re-reading the novel (and my parents whole-heartedly agreed with this), you couldn't actually tell what had been cut. Yes. I am just that long-winded.

So the week before the Easter holiday, in a downpour, I walked the new MS over to the agency again. What the girl who answered the door must have thought of this sad looking person presenting her MS protected from the rain by a plastic bag, is her story to tell. But she took it, and I turned around and returned to whence I'd come.

That Friday Julia called. Again a housemate answered, but this time a much more civilized one, and no silly voices were invoked. She wanted to meet with me.

Sure (begin silent screaming and flailing arms in the direction of housemates [and one housemate's friend]), when?

How about Saturday?

Cool. Cool.

Hang up phone.

Begin real screaming.

So I met with Julia around 6pm on the Saturday. And wound up hanging out with the girl for 5 HOURS. We chatted about the book, about some more edits she wanted done. About our families. And about one topic I have been obsessing over lately, the job of an agent and all the wacky stuff that happens. I love talking about that stuff. After much chatting I finally had to ask: "After I do all these edits and stuff, I mean . . . um . . . well what happens next?" It was then that she finally told me she wanted to represent me. It was then that she also told me she liked to wait to see when the author would ask that question. Oh those wacky agents.

At 11pm we parted ways and I immediately called mom and dad. I was taking the tube but fortunately my route was above ground. I talked to them the whole journey home (my dad has recently become obsessed with google maps where you can see the satellite view of the world, so he followed my route online - in case you forgot, they were in Canada, I was in London). We were very excited. They, possibly, were slightly more excited. That isn't to diminish my excitement, but merely to try to express just how excited my parents get about these sorts of things.

I still had to complete some edits, but I did it and finally, FINALLY, I signed the contract. I visited the agency for a third time, and this time, this time, I was let through the door. And I have to say, I love Julia's office. It's this cozy room with poorly constructed shelving that sag under the weight of all the books of the authors they represent.

So I signed the paper and was given as a gift a book by one of their clients. Of course I needed to be difficult about it, one was too scary, one wasn't really my genre. . . finally I was given a Lee Child (Killing Floor - his first). It was very good by the way.

I had one or two more little edits to make that I said I'd do that night and send them to her then. And that's just what I did.

Then . . . oh then . . . as the wonderful team that we were . . . we started The Great Publisher Hunt!!

The Agent Acquisition Part 1

When we last left our temping actress, she was faced with a conundrum - how to find a literary agent? So, what did she do? Read on dear friends, read on.

As I've already pointed out, I did a fair bit of writing at my various temping jobs. However, when I was faced with writer's block, I would google questions about the publishing world. I stumbled onto the Bloomsbury website where they offer a lot of free information on the industry. This is the link: http://www.bloomsbury.com/WritersArea/Get_Published.asp. By checking out this link I learned about the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook - a large fat book that tells you everything you need to know about the publishing industry (in the UK), as well as providing lists of addresses of publishers and . . .agents!!!

So after much research I learned I needed to provide my prospective agent the following things:

- a query letter
- a synopsis
- the first three chapters


The Dreaded Query Letter

I was a lucky girl. I had no idea how difficult such a letter was supposed to be. I read the example provided in the yearbook, found an example online of a published writer's query, and took what I considered to be the best bits from both and combined them into what seemed to me to be a professional sounding, witty and intriguing letter. I was very familiar with the art of the cover letter, having sent out many many of them as an actor. So I knew to be professional and to the point. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't a terrible struggle. It was only after I had had success with it that I noticed on writing forums and agent blogs just how huge and important the query letter was - how so many writers worked themselves to the bone to get the perfect letter, and how there were even courses on writing the perfect one. Had I known any of that I would have second guessed myself throughout the process of creating the thing. You see the problem is, no two queries are the same. You can have your query letter edited to death, and be told to do such and such by one person only to be told that such and such is the absolutely wrong thing to do. So, ignorance was bliss. The most blissful of bliss.

Synopsis

This again I think I may have done wrong. Fortunately the one thing I did right was not end with a cliffhanger. I knew that the agent wanted to know the story and it wasn't my place to be cute. However the tone of the synopsis was quite dry, and the middle section was actually bulletpointed! From what I have since learned the key is to write the synopsis in the tone of the book, like a mini-story. That to me makes a heck of a lot of sense.

The First Three Chapters

I just made sure my first three chapters were amazing. It occurred to me early on that I had a big problem however. My middle grade adventure book opened with a chapter where there was absolutely no dialogue (this has since changed in subsequent editings). And this is where I did wrong thing number 372. I wrote a prologue. If there is one thing I have noticed in the blogs of the various agents and editors out there is how much they don't like prologues. Well again, I didn't know that at the time. I wrote a short prologue which was virtually entirely (what I considered to be) amusing dialogue, and that was relatively short. To be honest, I love this prologue, it adds a heck of a lot to the story and gets things started off on the right tone. Still, is there anything this temping actress did right?


Well . . . I did follow the instructions of each specific agent. I also phoned all the agencies to get the name of the person to whom I should submit. I made sure I didn't submit to any agent who didn't take children's lit. And I didn't use any fancy fonts (Times New Roman 12 all the way), or scented paper, or anything else that is ridiculous. On the other hand. . . .

I hadn't finished the novel.

Okay, in my self-defense all the agent sites and blurbs said that it takes 4 - 6 weeks to get back to you. And I knew I would be able to write my ending in that amount of time. Besides I work better in a panic with a deadline looming in the not so distant future.

So on a cold Monday morning in January I took half a dozen manila envelopes filled with queries and synopses and first three chapterees, and sent them off on their merry way, wooshing through fair London town with the help of those noble knights from the Royal Mail.

And I went about my business.


La di da di da di da, la di da, la di da.


The next day (Tuesday - the same day I had an audition for Robert Altman which was awesome, and even though I didn't get it, I actually thought I did pretty darn well):

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

"Hello?"

And then followed a stream of words I didn't quite understand until the title of my book was mentioned. And then everything clicked. It turned out that a marvelous young woman by the name of Julia Churchill from the marvelous agency Darley Anderson wanted me to send her the whole MS. Could I do such a thing?

"Of course, yes! Thank you . . . yes . .. yes. . .all right. Goodbye!"

I hung up the phone. And then started running in tiny little circles waving my hands around. WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo???????????

I tell you what I do. Mom and dad (wonderful English teachers and the king and queen of grammar) get the novel, up to the point I had written it at the time, to edit. Woosh, there it goes over the inter network. Meanwhile I sit in front of the computer and finish the thing. In three very long days.

I sat at my kitchen table and wrote all day, and late into the night. Pausing occasionally to watch the favourite TV shows and to eat. And I finished it. Meanwhile I received the edits from the folks, and after a long chat on the telephone, made the various corrections. Then on the Friday I printed it up at one of those print shop places.

It sat quietly on my mantle for two days and three nights.

Monday morning I walked it over to the agency (it was in my neighbourhood you see, and it saved me money and the worry of whether or not it had made it).

Then all there was left to do was wait. And wait.

And wait.



Next Time: The Conclusion of The Agent Acquisition.

A Big Announcement

Ladies and gentlemen of the imaginary audience, I have signed a contract. I have. Now this isn't a contract I made up in my room to play "Let's sign a contract" that wonderful game of make believe. No this is a real live contract with . . . a real live publisher.

Ooh! What's this, you gasp. Since when is our lovely temp and/or actress also an authoress? Kinda snuck up on you didn't it? Well to be honest I have been writing ever since I was very little (you must somewhat sense I like to write silly poems). And heck, this is a blog people! And a blog is a form of writing. So really the question should be, "How come it took so long?" To which I stick out my tongue at you!

Right now I am being very tentative as to the sort of information to release, as I don't know if it is my place. So I am not going to go into specifics yet (though when I need you all in all your invisible glory to buy my book, then I will give you all the information you could possibly handle. Maybe even the colour of my socks on Wednesdays - ah Wednesday socks. You know I just imagined this second a whole slew of invisible people going into book stores and taking my book off the shelves and people gasping in horror as dozens of books seemingly of their own volition fly towards the cash register. And this is an extremely long aside. Which I will finish . . .now).

However I did want to start writing down the process from submission to publication, just because I am utterly fascinated by it myself.

First I should share the story of the story. Which fits nicely in with The Temp and The Actress.

I have always had something on the go writing wise. Usually it is some manifestation of my comedy detective novel which is always such fun to write until I remember I have to include a plot. Occasionally it is a play (the most recent a modern Jacobean tragedy, the act of writing it became a bit of a Jacobean tragedy in and of itself). But never, not ever, a children's novel.

So what made me do it? Well first off I LOVE children's lit. I do. I am a Harry Potterphile (omg! How amazing was the reading in New York! And she was introduced by . . . Jon Stewart!! Who, if you read earlier along in my blog - http://ididntchoosethis.blogspot.com/2006/02/revelation.html, is the sole reason I write this blog at all. Anyway, so great and if you care and want to check out the whole reading - that included Stephen King and an absolutely sensational reading by John Irving check out www.the-leaky-cauldron.org) Second I was in Bath. Not the bath. Bath. In England. Where Jane Austen wrote and was miserable.

I went to Bath February of 2005 for a weekend getaway from the hustle and bustle of London town. I brought my laptop so I could watch the extended Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. And also a couple of 'A Series of Unfortunate Events' to read in the plethora of tea shops around the town (shout out to Sally Lunn's and her buns). Well after the first day I had exhausted all tourist sights as well as seen 'The Life Aquatic' at a cute little movie theatre. It was cold and wet and as I wandered around the lovely town aimlessly I started thinking about writing a book (as one does). Since I was reading children's lit at the time, and felt quite well versed in the area, I thought, what if I wrote a children's book? I bet I could do that.

Well what would it be about? I asked myself. I answered. What else would it be about? I answered that too. And as I asked myself questions, I passed sights and shops that found their way into my story and finally when my stomach was fluttering about with butterflies of inspiration (not the deadly butterflies of inspiration!! Run, run for your life!) so much that I couldn't sit still (also it was really cold out and not much fun sitting still for that long), I went back to my B & B and started to write. I wrote around 20 pages that weekend, nothing too significant, but enough to convince me that I wasn't going to give up any time soon.

For the rest of the year I wrote. I wrote at home in front of the tv and various reality tv shows (which are excellent for white noise). I wrote at work (but only after I had of course done my work - I am a very good girl). And once August rolled around suddenly the thought struck me that maybe I should try to get published. The idea seemed absurd and impossible, but I am an actor and used to impossible dreams. And if there is one thing actors are familiar with it's rejection. So it didn't seem a big risk.

But, and this was the big problem, how to do it?

Dum dum dum!!!!!!

(Always end on a cliff hanger - author advice #264)

NEXT TIME: The Agent Acquisition

Oh. Canada.

Hey all, sorry sorry again for my poor posting techniques. I have an excuse! A pretty good one! I've left London, England. Sigh. Yes the Home Office realised what a threat I was to civilisation as we know it, so they sent me back to the great white (though it is bloody hot here at the moment). So I have moved back to Toronto Canada. I have also been in the process of arranging new head shots (new country, new style), getting an agent, and meeting with my trainer (the man-with-killer-quads). And I haven't even begun to look for a job or a place to live (back with the parents, though they are at the cottage most of the summer so I get a three story house to myself.)

So there you go, my imaginary readers. I promise I will start blogging with much more frequency once August rolls round. Until then, big kisses!


[Ooh ooh! I'm going to NY next weekend to see John Irving, Stephen King and JK Rowling read for charity August 1st! Gold star to anyone who can point out which one I'm most excited about.]

Beware! (echo echo echo)

People google you (yes you specifically)!



They do.

People find you. Not the randoms out there who you are expecting to find you and read your blog, surf your site, and make you famous, but the other people. Prospective employers. Prospective lovers. And even worse, current employers and current lovers.

So just use common sense. And if not common sense, then for god's sake a pseudonym!









And spell check.

Following on from last time . . .

First off apologies, oh my imaginary audience, for leaving you alone for so long. How long the hours must have been, the worry, the fear. What could have happened to our dear old temp? Our dear old actress?

To be honest a heck of a lot actually.

About which I will not update you, at least not yet.

What I will share with you is a secret that you may or may not have realised about me. I am addicted to the internet. But more than simply that, I am addicted to finding new addictions on the internet. As with the people I will never know (see last post with very charming poem), I am obsessed with discovering new exciting websites that I never before knew existed. Especially ones that change with some regularity - obviously the most common is the blog. However, just recently I stumbled onto the artist Tony DiTerlizzi's website (http://www.diterlizzi.com). And well, I LURVE IT!!!

First of all let me just say I lurve his work. There is an old-fashioned, yet not, feel about them (this is my expert opinion of course). I especially love when you click on a picture that you get to sometimes see the sketch behind it, sketches at times being in my opinion often beautifuller than the finished product (on this tangent let me say that the cartoon in the National Gallery in London by Leonardo Da Vinci is one of my absolute favourite pieces). Next I lurve the inspirations that Tony (we are on a first name basis, in my imagination) was . . . inspired. . .by, namely Jim Henson and Edward Gorey. But lastly, dude, I just love the website, and I don't know who his website guy is but this website guy is like a total genius.

So check it out. Because, you see, Tony DiTerlizzi? He's really good. And he seems like a nice guy (he has little video footage of himself on each page doing something silly). Okay so he's pretty famous, but don't hold that against him. Good is good is good.

Is good.

I Don't Know You!

I worked at a fabulous Pilates place. And at the end of the day I would have to make a list of all the people who would be attending classes the next morning. Then I would draw out their individual files, with practitioner comments, and place them in a little pile.

Now I didn't work there very often, so I only really knew the people who came on Saturdays, unlike my fellow receptionists who knew everyone. But I also thought I knew the people who came on Mondays. Because I would see their names each shift. I knew their handwriting from where they'd filled in the forms and occasionally I would talk to them on the phone.

And I was thinking just how weird that is. I really felt like I knew these people, that I'd met them. I had made firm judgments about them. When my colleagues would mention one of them I would nod sagely, "Ah yes of course John Doe. What a crazy individual he is!" But when I sat in the quiet of the reception and really thought about it. . . well of course I didn't know them at all. I had no idea what they looked like, only knew what a few of them sounded like. . . and quite likely would never know them.

How weird is that?

Oh hey look, a poem!

TO THE PEOPLE I WILL NEVER KNOW



To the people I will never know:
Who live along down on my street
or in homes passed on my walk,
or at plays where we didn't meet.

Or sat on the tube in my seat
With a paper left in their spot
or the one who's manicured feet
tried the same shoes that I bought.

To you all, I wish you the best
that all of your dreams will come true
that you live your life full everyday,
and take pride in whatever you do.

That you're happy most of the time,
and not frightened to sometimes feel sad,
and when wrong admit that you were,
and say sorry whenever you're bad.

I hope that you take the odd risk
and sometimes forget to think twice.
I hope too that you do think ahead
and above all try to be 'nice'.

Yes, you people I'll never know,
and who'll never in turn know me
I hope that at times you too think
of those who you'll never see.

Cause then we'll each of us know,
that we're never quite that alone,
we're deep in the thoughts of another
wondering too who they've never known.

Follow Your Saint. No, Seriously, Follow Your Saint!

In honour of the lovely song that I've been singing to myself all
morning (yes as a receptionist in a pilates studio), let's have a little 17th century sing-a-long:

Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet ;
Haste you, sad noates, fall at her flying feete :
There, wrapt in cloud of sorrowe pitie moue,
And tell the rauisher of my soule I perish for her loue.
But if she scorns my neuer-ceasing paine,
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and nere returne againe.

All that I soong still to her praise did tend,
Still she was first ; still she my songs did end.
Yet she my loue and Musicke both doeth flie,-
The Musicke that her Eccho is and beauties simpathie ;
Then let my Noates pursue her scornfull flight:
It shall suffice that they were breath'd and dyed for her delight.

- Thomas Campion

(For a real Thomas Campion karaoke experience visit: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/follow.htm, where the music is played for you on a harpsichord!)

I have seen it.

I have seen it my friends. I have seen it.

Yesterday I was in well known coffee chain. This well known coffee chain tends to have washrooms at the back of their establishment. A little door. A little room. And, well, you get the picture. Well yesterday I needed to visit said room and I went to the sign and lo and behold there were stairs. This unnerved me.

But I went down the stairs. They turned and twisted deeper deeper down into the bowels of the coffee establishment. Deeper past unknown rooms, past unknown sounds and smells. Deeper still, the yellow walls fading to a murky brown. To a door. A door marked with a sinister silhouette of a woman. Tentatively I pushed on it. I entered.

Sitting there on the toilet bowl, looking at me plaintively, was a roll of toilet paper.

With no hole.

No hole in the middle.

"Uh hi."

What madness is this?

We spent a short time together, and then as quickly as I could, I left and ran as fast as was possible back up the stairs. Back past the strange sounds and smells. Back into the light. Never to return again.


I have seen it my friends,
where the long stairway ends,
and yellow hall wends,
it awaits on the bowl.

It awaits on the bowl
like the stories you've heard
and they're true, every word
what you've learned of the roll.

What you've learned of the roll?
Yes it does have no hole.

And it's here for your soul.
And you'll know that it's true,
when it calls out to you,
to come visit the loo.

For I've seen it my friends,
where the long stairway ends,
and yellow hall wends,
it awaits on the bowl.

Contact

We've made contact with Freddy.

There is a hole in ceiling of the storage units high above the sink and shower of our bathroom (kinda like the song: "there's a germ on the flea on the hair on the wart on the frog on the bump on the long in the hole in the bottom of the sea").

He has found his way into said units and rustles away in there.

One day my housemate opened one of the doors to check it out and I watched in the reflection of the mirror. There he was.

"Freddy you little f*****!"

A little grey head, eye contact and then a scurry back into the roof.

I have seen the monster, and he's awfully cute.







But still annoying as hell.

Go little book . . .

I was browsing other blogs and came upon the one written by author John Connolly where he suggested that this quote from Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde would make an excellent prayer for authors:


"Go, litel bok . . .
And red whereso thow be, or elles songe,
That thow be understood, God I biseche!"

(which he roughly translates as: Go, little book, and wherever you are read, I ask God only that you be understood.)




Though I don't know the original context of this quote, I think the way Mr. Connolly has interpreted it is very apt.

Because there is nothing quite so exciting as when someone understands what an author's written. When they are on the same page, and explain back to her her own reasoning. When someone else, someone she doesn't know well, who doesn't know her well, gets it. Just, you know, gets it.

My Friends

Does anyone have such friends?

I cannot imagine that anyone has friends like I do. I can't think how it is possible, because if everyone had friends like mine then this world would be populated by none but the smartest, funniest, bravest, most talented, most giving, and most beautiful of people. And I can't sufficiently describe to you how wonderful they are because you would think I was generalizing, that I was trotting out all those general compliments one uses to make someone feel better.

* But by smart I mean studying PhD's smart (whether or not they are actually pursuing said degree).
* And by funny, I mean unique, roll on the floor laughing till your sides hurt, funny.

* By brave I mean not only smiling through great adversity, but singing and dancing and drumming.
* By talented I mean able to create and perform works of art to the most professional and inspirational of standards.
* By giving, I mean choosing to help others as your vocation.
* And by most beautiful - aside from souls, I mean superficially hot, sexy, ladies and gents who just seem to be blessed with all the correct proportions.

I do not exaggerate. Not one tiny bit. And what is the most shocking, the thing that would drive you running into the mountains babbling nonsensical rubbish with a drooble of spittle running out of the side of your mouth, is that my friends, all of my friends, possess each of these qualities in various measures.

A little poem in honour of their magnificence:

I would love to share with you all
how much my friends totally rock
but it just isn't possible as
I'm afraid you'd die of the shock.

Pretty Picture

You may have noticed a slight change in my posts. Yes I am talking about the sudden inclusion of pictures. The reason is a simple one. I have just discovered how to do it. And I like colourful things. I am a woman obsessed, and I vow never shall I post again without an illustration! Ha ha!

A nice thing to read . . .

"The meeting of strangers is funny,
it's odd how it so often ends,
after less than an hour together,
the Nipkin and Zlog were good friends."



I don't know if this is a completely accurate quote from the fabulous picture book Norbert Nipkin (the last line doesn't scan quite right), however I've had it running through my head today like a song and I thought I'd share it with you.

There's just something really nice about it.

And now we dance!

I'm seeing people dance tonight. I don't quite know what sort of show it is really, a friend invited me along. I know it is something oh so contemporary, which can be quite interesting and awe inspiring at times. And I have surprisingly studied quite a bit of dance for someone who never was interested in studying dance. So I can appreciate what I am looking at.

Doesn't mean I'll like it.

Here's the thing. I find things like dance theatre, especially ballet, and its cousin, opera . . . silly. You may think, fair enough, that's your opinion, but let me add this: I love musical theatre and, what's more, don't find it remotely ridiculous to watch.

Now why is that? Musical theatre of the three is most definitely the most absurd:

"Okay so let's pretend this is just a normal play set in a normal time and place, and then, oh hey, let's then suddenly sing a bit. Maybe dance a little?"
"Sure!"
"Hey how about instead of a fight we pirouette?"
"Dude I am so down with that."
"And then once we finish, let's pretend it never happened, k?"
"With you man."

Musical theatre is inately silly.

And I don't know why I therefore like it more than the other two. I was going to argue that musicals are very self aware, that they know they are silly and play up to that, as opposed to opera and ballet that tend to (not all the time, but tend to) take themselves incredibly seriously. But that only works for the big happy musicals like Guys and Dolls, Little Shop of Horrors and, more recently, The Producers. What about Sondheim, I ask you!? WHAT ABOUT SONHEIM!!!??

I have no answer. All I can conclude is that I am a hypocritical, arrogant, close minded, musical theatre fundamentalist.

You know what? I think I'm okay with that.

My Wonderful Temp Job

Today I write to you from an actual temp job (hence fulfilling the initial mandate of this blog), one which I visit frequently and enjoy highly.

The reason I like it is not only are the people very nice (would you believe on my walk to work I lost the heel of my shoe and, upon telling my fellow receptionists of the tragedy, one offered to take it and have it fixed when she went to pick up her shoes at the cobblers?!), and the atmosphere is relaxed, and I know what I'm doing having worked here several times before, but best of all I get to pretend I am a secretary from the 1950's.

I sit with three other receptionists at a large curved desk in the lobby of a large curved business that employs several hundred large curved employees (actually I lie about the latter two as the business is a massive square building surrounded by other massive square buildings, and not a single person employed here looks anything other than a model - very frustrating to be sure). We answer phones and politely put them through to various extensions. And we sign in visitors and book board rooms.

And that's it.

Other than that we gossip and laugh, and wave to employees as they walk through the lobby, and it all feels just so retro.

And you wouldn't have thought it could get any better. But it did. You see, the best thing happened yesterday. As per my request, one of my colleagues leant me ... wait for it ... an emery board! Yes dear readers, believe it or not, your lovely blogger actually sat there, in true receptionist style, one leg crossed over the other, and filed her nails.

And what, my dear invisible readers, could be more fantabulous than that?

The Not-East Flying Thingy

There is nothing I like more than explaining to a friend what has just happened on the West Wing (remember I am in the UK and we are a season behind):


"Russell just asked Santos to join him on the ticket as VP,
and he turned him down!"

"Vinnick has just given the best speech ever,
Bartlett has to get his party in order!"


I like it cause it sounds like it's real. I find that funny. Because it isn't.

(But it should be)

A Revelation

I have been pondering why I write this thing. I used to assume it was because I was bored at work and needed something to fill the time. But I think that, after consistently checking to see if my readership has gone up and discovering that it hasn't, I have realised that I actually wish people would read my blog. And enjoy it. And their lives would change. And somehow I would become famous.

I don't exactly know why I would become famous. But I think when one writes a blog one is hoping other people will read it. And the more people the better. And if I become known internationally and get to guest star on The Daily Show, well I could put up with that. I mean it could be Oprah too I guess, but I just think Jon Stewart is really cute.

Actually maybe that's why I'm writing this blog. It isn't the boredom, or the fame, or the chance to write something that would really make a difference in someone's life.

No.

It's because Jon Stewart is cute.