Future New Blog (and why I haven’t been blogging)

I’ve been rubbish at posting. When I decided to stop blogging predominately about my life, I had grand plans of giving the site a make-over. Informational posts only. Kind of a publishing journalism sort of thing. As you can see that never happened.

Although, I do have my excuses. Here they are:

*Edinburgh Book Fest (AMAZING!)
*Spending nearly two weeks getting caught up with everything that I had to let slide during the Book Fest and following up on contacts made in Edinburgh
*Two weeks holiday (A few days at home, then ten days in Turkey with HP)
*Prep for Frankfurt Book Fest
*Frankfurt Book Fest next week

Oh, and doing the Dundee-to-Glasgow-commuter-relationship with HP, takes up more time than you’d think.

So, new plan. Once I’m back from Germany I’ll give NFTI the big ‘ol make-over it deserves. I promise.

Non-Bathtub Blogroll: The Swollen Edition

Due to the Olympics, I became homesick for living near London and got totally sucked into the games, which made me think that I could be all sporty, and I tried to be sporty, but instead I fell flat on my face and sprained my ankle.

Now my foot and the bottom part of my leg looks like it’s wearing a water-wing. I’m all bandaged and black and blue.

But, having a bunged up ankle isn’t really the problem, because I’m working from home so I don’t have to maneuver the stairs out of the flat. Plus, HarryPotter’s been coming around quite a lot – we was around all weekend. The problem is that the Edinburgh Book Fest is nearly here and I was finally going to go. I was sooooo psyched. Oh, plus, it will be my birthday during the Festival so I had plans to act like a drunken literary fuckwit the night of my birthday after the readings, which is totally hard to do when hobbling around on crutches. I’m still going no matter what state of mobility I am in, but it won’t be as good. Edinburgh has lots of stairs.

Anyway, here I am talking about my personal life. Which I said I wouldn’t do. Which is also why I try not to visit the blog more than once a week, for fear that I’ll get hooked again.

So, some really cool links that you may like:

Funny woman Pamela Ribon’s website totally recommened by JudiSunshine.

9 Foreign Words the English Language Desperately Needs: I’ve decided that I’m going to start slipping some of these words into everyday conversations.

TeleRead: I’m like the last person in the industry to discover this site, but nonetheless I did eventually find it. It’s basically a newspaper all about books. Super cool.

Okay, this one isn’t something cool, this something I want to STOP. The Secret to Humor is Surprise Facebook page sucks. Please stop putting these pictures on your wall. They aren’t funny. A picture of a child or a small animal with a relatively bitchy saying is not funny. This is the sort of thing my mum would find funny. It’s the same sort of funny as the middle-aged woman who walks into a shop and puts on the giant sunglasses in a fit of ‘whimsy’. ‘Oh look how “crazy” I am trying on Elton John sunglasses and a festival hat. Oh no I’m not going to buy anything shopkeeper, I’m just laughing at your merchandise.’ Yeah, these pictures are that sort of funny. So, please stop putting them on your Facebook wall, or I’m going to have to block you.

Right. I think I’m going to have to get off the blog now. The swelling in my foot seems to have reached my brain and I am unable to filter. So, yeah. I’d better go before someone accuses me of being a Kaelling.

Where are the funny women writers?

I stumbled across this old article from the Jezebel, and it really made me think, ‘There aren’t many funny female novelists’. Why is that?

The Bathtub Blogroll is Back

Sorry I’ve been away for so long (a whole week), but since I said I wasn’t going to blog about personal stuff any longer, it was just easier to stay away. The pull was too strong, so I had to go cold turkey, and all that.

However, since I’m jonesing for a little blogging action, I’ve decided to have a peek back at the old bloggy woggy, and post a Bathtub Blogroll (although, I haven’t needed to post form the bathroom for a while).  Hopefully, there’s no harm in passing along cool blogs and interesting topics I’ve discovered out on the internet. Is there?

Well, there’s only one way to find out. So, here you go. Enjoy…

As I’m saying often, I’m not a writer, but I still know shit when I see it. This is a great top 7 tips on How not to Write a Novel. And for everyone who says ‘this doesn’t apply to me’, I say ‘Yes it does and I see the outcome in the slush pile all the time.’ Heck, these are the exact reasons I am NOT a writer. 

Now, on to something a little less bitchy: We Feel Fine. This is the coolest thing in the world. You can tell what humanities is feeling based on globa blog posts. But, there is no way I can do this project justice, so just read their mission statement here. Oh, and it didn’t work for me in Explorer, so I had to open it in Firefox.

And if you ever wonder what a publisher does all day? (Other than blog about scummy ex-boyfriends and winge about horrible co-workers – as I did when I was at MNM.) Little Brown has put together a series of case studies, which do the trade much more justice than Notes from the Intern ever did.

Better than Almost

Yesterday was one of those life changing days. I wasn’t pulled back from the brink of death, or won the lottery. It was kind of subtle, and it wasn’t until the day had passed that I realised everything would be different from here on out. Then again, the change had been coming; I just didn’t see it until it was upon me.

As usual, I should start from the beginning.

Loraine’s words, ‘Loose lips sink ships’ stuck in my head all evening. Did she know? Of course she knew. But if she did, why didn’t she say more?

And there was that test. When I got home last night, I picked it up and took it to the bathroom, but I couldn’t even bring myself to open the box. I talked myself into thinking that I couldn’t pee on command. So I went into the kitchen and drank five glasses of water. I still didn’t have to pee.

I took the text back into the lounge, where it sat in its box. Taunting me. I took it to the bathroom again, but still couldn’t bring myself to open it.

About midnight there was a knock on the door, and my heart sank. I truly thought Fife was gone. I thought he’d never be back. I thought he was finally out my life. I ignored the door. The knocking got louder. I ignored it. The knocking continued. I had to make him go away, once and for all. I’d tell Fife through the door to leave, and then call the police. With my phone in hand, I looked through the peep hole. It wasn’t Fife. It was HarryPotter.

I opened the door and he stepped into the flat without saying a word. He pushed the door shut with his foot, grabbed me, pulled me towards him and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck; I could feel his scruffy stubble across my face. His hands moved up my back, and he pulled me even closer.

Finally he stepped away. I was stunned. He walked me into the lounge. We sat on the floor and he explained.

‘I haven’t stopped thinking about all of this, and I don’t care if you’re going to have another man’s child. I don’t care if you’re not going to have another man’s child. I just don’t care. I’m sick of losing you. This is ridiculous.’

‘But it’s so complicated,’ I said.

‘Do you want to be with me?’

I said, ‘Yes.’

He kissed me and said ‘That’s all that matters. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.’

‘I still haven’t taken the test,’ I said.

‘I know. I’m reading your blog again,’ he said.

Shit, that blog. This blog.

I asked him if he was angry that I’ve been writing about him, and he said, ‘I don’t like it, and it drives me a bit nuts. But that’s who you are, I’ll have to live with it.’ Then he added, ‘By the way. Congratulations.’

‘For what?’

‘Your job? Your promotion,’ he reminded me.

Oh yeah. It was all getting a bit surreal. I asked him how he knew, and he said, ‘I read your blog before I drove over. Actually, I guess the blog isn’t so bad. I’ll always know what you’re thinking.’

Should my friends, families and lovers always know what I’m thinking? What am I doing? Loose lips sink ships. Why do I compulsively write in this blog? Why can’t I just write in a diary like a normal person? I was so angry with Fife for using his novel to write about our relationship. Yet, I was doing the same thing. Why didn’t any of you, my bloggy woggy followers, scream at me in the ‘comments’ section. Why didn’t you shout at me, ‘For fuck’s sake. You’re just as bad as Fife’? Why didn’t I realise what a big hypocrite I was being?

I had been lying awake on the bedtress, curled next to HP, feeling like everything was almost right in the world. Almost. I knew what I need to do to make it perfect. Well, not perfect. But better than ‘almost’.

I needed to take the test and I need to stop blogging. Or, stop blogging about my life, my work, my friends, my loves, and my family. This will be my last personal blog. I’ll still keep in touch. I’ll still talk about publishing and interning and agenting. But it will have to be general, about the industry — not about me or my life in publishing. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it anymore.

HarryPotter has suffered through me. He asked me to stop blogging about him, but I continued, and he loved me anyway. I owe it to him. I owe it to Loraine. And I owe it to Conspiracy to stop. I owe it to my friends. So, I shall have to stop.

But don’t worry. It won’t end until I’ve told you the results of my test. That wouldn’t be fare to you, my bloggy woggy followers, who have supported and consoled me along the way.

I slipped out of bed last and walked lightly to the bathroom. I didn’t want to wake HarryPotter. I finally opened the box. My stomach was rumbling with nerves, and I wanted to begin crying before I even knew the results. I read the directions and opened the foil packed the stick was kept in. It was time.

I pulled down my pants and discovered that the test wasn’t needed. In the night, finally, I started my period.

It’s funny that for your life to change, sometimes things just need to go back to the way they should be.

Loose lips sink ships

Today, the moment I got into the office Loraine asked to speak with me. She had that severe look on her face. The last time I had seen that look, was about a month ago when she told me that she would be shutting down the Agency – in a month.

This is it, I thought. Despite all the hard work, how we’ve all pulled together as a team, the massive amount of income that had been generated in such a short period of time, this was it. She would be shutting down the Agency.

She sat me down at the kitchen table, and she began by telling me how much she appreciated my hard work. How much I’ve grown and learned in such a short period of time. Without my help she could have never had coped. That she appreciated everything…

That was it. I was waiting for the ‘but’. ‘But’ I’m closing down the Agency. ‘But’ this still hasn’t changed my mind. ‘But’ it’s still not enough money to pay all the bills, my house is being taken away from me, you’re a big failure.

But the ‘but’ never came.

Instead, she said, ‘You’ve done a lot to remind me why I love my job, and that even if the industry is changing, it doesn’t mean that I’m too old to keep up. That’s why, I’ve decided to keep the agency open.’

It hadn’t quite sunk in. What was she saying? That all was well? Was I correct in hearing that? After months of hard work, I wouldn’t be broke, unemployed and pregnant? Holy shit. Was I hearing this right?

Loraine could tell that I was a bit confused. She stopped, and said again, ‘I’ve decided to not shut down the Agency.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said.

I don’t think she did.

‘There’s been so many changes, how can you be sure I won’t change my mind?’ she said more like a statement than a question. She then said she was going to go ahead with the original plan (if it was okay with London, Paris and I) where we all pool our agent fees, and share in the costs. The last few months when London, Paris and I all worked together has proved that we can do this. She doesn’t think we should take on any new clients for awhile and really focus on pushing those we have. Then she said, ‘I’m going to take a slight step back, but I’d like to list you as full agent.’

It really wasn’t sinking in. An agent? Me? I have no idea what I was doing. Me? An agent?

I expressed my concern, but she waived my apprehension away by saying, ‘Don’t worry. You’ve proved yourself.’

She had spoken with London and Paris the evening before, and they were extremely happy with the situation. It was sinking in slowly, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

The afternoon was spent working on stuff for the US deal. Since they did a three book deal, they essentially bought a book that hasn’t yet been sold in the UK, so we had to do some editing.

Later in the day we’d heard from RRManager who’s sent us over figures and other rights aspects – such as merchandising, serialization and so forth. I was keen to keep Conspiracy out of it until we’d completely negotiated the entire deal. However, he specifically told us that he wanted final say in the script. I knew that was going to be tough negotiating, so I passed the whole thing on to London. She thinks we can get a certain level of control over the script, but not casting maybe casting. And final control will be difficult as it would mean that Conspiracy would have to be on set, as sometimes scripts change all the way up to shooting. London is in the processes of putting all this together.

Six o’clock rolled around, and it was time to leave the office, just like every other weekday for the last five months. It all felt so normal, despite the big changes. I had a job and the potential to make a lot more money as an agent. But, as is the way with life, nothing felt different yet. Maybe it was because, at home, sitting on my lounge floor was that pink and blue box. My period was quite late by this point, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer. With all the potential for change it was time for me to find out. It was the night.

I went to leave the office, but Loraine stopped me. ‘You know, with the film deal there may be a confidentiality agreement,’ she said.

‘I’ll talk to [Conspiracy] about it tomorrow,’ I said.

‘No. I’m talking about you. Loose lips sink ships,’ and with that she left the office and went into the front part of the house.

Shit!

I’ve been home for hours and I still haven’t taken the test. I can’t. I just can’t.

The Runaway

I came home to a little surprise on my doorstep. BigOne had run away again, this time he was running to me instead away from me. Well, sort of. He had a knapsack at his feet and he was playing on his phone. How many times had that phone probably rung, while he ignored it and played a game? I’m sure his parents were worried sick. I hope his parents were worried sick.