Coming down after a long, loud week at the BEA. Mostly was a hermit this weekend, watching a lot of t.v. and wasting the beautiful weather. Emptying my jacket pockets I find a dozen business cards (oh right, I remember her), cheap pens, and receipts for $6 bottles of water. I expect these things to dematerialize in my hand like the Star of Astaroth from Bedknobs and Broomsticks, but they persist. It’s the exhausted thrill that’ll fade. Ho-hum, we had fun, but now it’s back to work.

So here’s the question: what to do between projects? I’m waiting for my agent to get back to me with notes, which will certainly mean more work on the New One (either that or he’ll pass it to my editor, which means a little more waiting, then, again, more work on the New One), so I’m wary of stepping off into another book just yet. But at the same time I go a little crazy without a project. I’ve considered short stories, but frankly, they frighten me. My best bet is brainstorming the next novel, which is only slightly less terrifying. “The journey of a thousand miles…” and all that, but the first step still has to have a direction, and that’s the toughest part.

But what am I complaining about? It’s a beautiful day. I’ve got all these cheap pens, and tonight it’s drinks and BBQ at Flatbush Farm. Life could be worse.


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