![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lots has happened. Well, kind of. From my perspective, lots has happened. To the outside observer, probably not so exciting.
But. Last week I finally finished yet another round of revision on the first novel. I know it could get better still, but I think it's good enough now to start getting serious about the publishing thing. Which means this week's work centers on the query letter and the synopsis to send to agents. Today I worked on the query letter. It should accurately convey just how unpleasant this job is when I mention that I went to the hospital for a CT scan this afternoon, and that was the high point of my day. But now I've declared the workday over, so I won't think about that anymore until tomorrow.
I was out of town for the last 4 days. First in NY, for The Most Boring Dinner In The World, an annual event involving my family plus several hundred Jewish corporate lawyers and many dull speeches. But to my great surprise, this year the Most Boring Dinner wasn't, thanks entirely to my mother's new friend, Jane. Mom met Jane a few weeks ago. Jane dated my father from 1954 to 1961. They broke up shortly before my dad met my mom. (My parents dated for about 6 weeks before getting engaged.) It was utterly fascinating to meet her; she's funny and sharp and wonderfully candid, and when I wasn't getting lost in thoughts of "Wow, this woman was almost my mother, kind of," I loved talking to her, hearing her stories of what Dad was like between ages 16 and 23 (she was 14 to 21), and what his parents were like (I never knew them; his mom died while he was still with Jane, and his father died when I was 4).
And then for 3 days I was at a yoga and writing retreat, which I'm still processing. I may have things to say about it later. For now I'll just say it was good. And if any of you ever get a chance to work with a yoga instructor named Charles MacInerney, do it. It doesn't matter if you have prior experience with yoga, or what kind of shape you're in. You just have to meet, and hear, and learn from, this man. I have never been so impressed or so inspired by anybody in my life. He's based in Austin but leads retreats and workshops all over the place, and someday, knees permitting, I'm going to go with him to Guatemala for a 10-day yoga and meditation retreat he leads there. I even find myself contemplating spending a week or two in Austin just so I could take his regular class. I could talk about Charles a lot. Someday I might. (If the rest of my work-week is anywhere near as much fun as today was, that day may come very soon.)
And now I'm home, catching up on things, dealing with re-entry, trying not to lose the way I felt on retreat: alive, peaceful, happy, fully awake, and blessed. Already I can feel those sensations dimming, getting lost in the clutter of life and work and daily annoyances. But in truth, with regard to everything in my life except for my knees, I do feel myself tremendously lucky. Even on days when I hate the work, when the house is a mess, when I can't deal with life -- it's still the work, the house, the life I'd choose. (And weather this glorious doesn't hurt either.)
But. Last week I finally finished yet another round of revision on the first novel. I know it could get better still, but I think it's good enough now to start getting serious about the publishing thing. Which means this week's work centers on the query letter and the synopsis to send to agents. Today I worked on the query letter. It should accurately convey just how unpleasant this job is when I mention that I went to the hospital for a CT scan this afternoon, and that was the high point of my day. But now I've declared the workday over, so I won't think about that anymore until tomorrow.
I was out of town for the last 4 days. First in NY, for The Most Boring Dinner In The World, an annual event involving my family plus several hundred Jewish corporate lawyers and many dull speeches. But to my great surprise, this year the Most Boring Dinner wasn't, thanks entirely to my mother's new friend, Jane. Mom met Jane a few weeks ago. Jane dated my father from 1954 to 1961. They broke up shortly before my dad met my mom. (My parents dated for about 6 weeks before getting engaged.) It was utterly fascinating to meet her; she's funny and sharp and wonderfully candid, and when I wasn't getting lost in thoughts of "Wow, this woman was almost my mother, kind of," I loved talking to her, hearing her stories of what Dad was like between ages 16 and 23 (she was 14 to 21), and what his parents were like (I never knew them; his mom died while he was still with Jane, and his father died when I was 4).
And then for 3 days I was at a yoga and writing retreat, which I'm still processing. I may have things to say about it later. For now I'll just say it was good. And if any of you ever get a chance to work with a yoga instructor named Charles MacInerney, do it. It doesn't matter if you have prior experience with yoga, or what kind of shape you're in. You just have to meet, and hear, and learn from, this man. I have never been so impressed or so inspired by anybody in my life. He's based in Austin but leads retreats and workshops all over the place, and someday, knees permitting, I'm going to go with him to Guatemala for a 10-day yoga and meditation retreat he leads there. I even find myself contemplating spending a week or two in Austin just so I could take his regular class. I could talk about Charles a lot. Someday I might. (If the rest of my work-week is anywhere near as much fun as today was, that day may come very soon.)
And now I'm home, catching up on things, dealing with re-entry, trying not to lose the way I felt on retreat: alive, peaceful, happy, fully awake, and blessed. Already I can feel those sensations dimming, getting lost in the clutter of life and work and daily annoyances. But in truth, with regard to everything in my life except for my knees, I do feel myself tremendously lucky. Even on days when I hate the work, when the house is a mess, when I can't deal with life -- it's still the work, the house, the life I'd choose. (And weather this glorious doesn't hurt either.)
