Mar
17

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED IN THE PAST WEEK(ish):

#1. Though at 17 I could often be heard declaring Sleep for the Weak, at 30, all-nighters result in the (temporary, thank god) loss of what I estimate to be nearly 80 IQ points.
Par example:
I did not sleep Monday night. At all. I was up editing as the clock marked the passing of my deadline and the beginning of The Unnatural Time (Midnight), and still I typed, growing ever more unhinged, until about 10 in the morning yesterday. I hadn’t finished, but finally sent the file to my editor anyway: I had no choice, and besides had reached the point where I was so tired that I had the urge to cut whole scenes, just because I couldn’t bear to work on them—in fact, did we need that chapter, or the whole part about the baby? BURN IT ALL! I sent an email along with the manuscript, an email I will never reread, as I am pretty sure it contained the ramblings of a crazy person, a tired, sobbing crazy person with an IQ of 80.

(I need that thing that forces you to solve math problems before you can send email, except I am actually quite good at math even when my mental status is compromised, so maybe instead they should have one of those problems with a bunch of squiggles where you have to choose the next squiggle that is part of the pattern, the kind that involves spatial relations and turning things in your mind.)

I ought to have gone to sleep then, but I didn’t, which is why the following exchange occurred around 7:00 last night:

(In dim BEDROOM, ALEXA removes pants)

SCOTT: What’s that on your leg?

ALEXA: Where?

(ALEXA twists around to look, sees silver-dollar-sized BLACK SPOT on rear thigh.)

SCOTT (peering): Does it hurt? Oh—it looks like it might be ink. I can’t tell.

(ALEXA stumbles desperately from room to find better lighting, head craned backward toward BLACK SPOT all the way. SCOTT follows. In BATHROOM, SCOTT examines ALEXA who clenches fists and turns head away, eyes closed.)

ALEXA (shrill, fearfully): IS IT NECROSIS?

Necrosis. NECROSIS. Because that is the most likely explanation, surely. Maybe from sitting on my ass for six months.
(Scott is never, ever going to let me forget this, by the way.)
(It was an inkstain)

#2. Even if, once you arrive at the gorgeous Hotel Palomar in Philadelphia (for a planned weekend of medical curiosity museums and shopping and massages) YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOTEL AGAIN, INSTEAD SPENDING THE ENTIRE TRIP SITTING ON YOUR BED WITH A LAPTOP, EDITING, you can still have a good time, if your best friend is there to help. You can even have a good time delivered, these days, in the form of lobster quesadillas and the incomparable Heather Barmore.

#3. Philadelphia has astoundingly tasty Thai food. Obviously, I discovered this before my arrival at and hermitage in the hotel, when I met with my lovely, lovely editor and publicist and accompanied them to lunch. It’s probably unhealthy, how often I have thought of that lunch over the past few days.

#4. My publishing company believes in my book, fervently. I kind of love them for that. I had a strong urge to kiss the marketing director.

#5. I miss cities. I relished the brief time I spent out and about in Philadelphia, (Ahem. That would be…the walk from my publisher’s office to my hotel). It was raining, but I loved it still. I am never afraid, walking in a city, even if I have never been there before. There is so much to look at, and so many people, and you are never really lost, because there is always someone to ask for directions. And did you know you that from 30th street station in Philly you can be in NYC in an hour and a half by train? And that I made the acquaintance of a little town that is so improbably charming I am seriously considering moving there, and THAT town is only 20 minutes from Philadelphia, also by train? Oh, how I love trains.

#6. I love having a real best friend. I love having friends. I think I even have more than one. Some people really seem to like me, I think. Or so they say.

#7. When it is or isn’t “over” has nothing to do with the vocalizations of a zaftig female. It is not over when the schedule says it will be. It is not over when you turn in the manuscript, or on the deadline for incorporating your own and the editor’s changes. It’s not over when the book goes to the copyeditor, or when you receive the copyeditor’s edits, or when you accept/reject them. It’s not OVER, motherfucker, until you must relinquish your baby to design at last (next Monday!), so that they can get started on the real, live advance reader’s copies for BEA.

#8. I AM GOING TO BEA. THE BOOK EXPO. MY BOOK WILL BE THERE, BEING EXPO’D! AS WILL I! It is in New York, in May. I have dreamed of attending for ages, because oh, all the books! Does it make me a nerd if I have a BEA poster above my bed?

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |