Friday, September 01, 2006

The Chick Flick and Chick Lit Weekend

Book 3, aka Damsel Under Stress, is now turned in. My editor says it will make good coffee shop reading for a rainy weekend in New York. Sounds lovely to me. After the last read-through, I've decided that I really like this book. It was hell, but it turned out great (I think). Oddly enough, the dreaded chapter five is now one of my favorite chapters, but that's in part because what used to be most of chapter five was deleted, and then I added a bunch of new stuff, then moved over part of what was chapter six. Now it's hard for me to even tell or remember what the hard parts were.

With that weight off my shoulders, I'm planning to more or less take it easy this weekend. I have a little bit of admin-type work to get done today, and then I want to do some house cleaning to set the proper stage for what I'm calling the Second Annual Rosa Vargas Memorial Chick Lit and Chick Flick Labor Day Weekend. Last year, I prepared for Labor Day weekend by buying a bunch of chick lit books, then spent the weekend on the sofa, reading. There turned out to be some great chick flicks on cable, too, and my friend Rosa and I spent most of that weekend on the phone, chatting about books (because wouldn't you know, she'd also read a lot of the same ones), and watching some of the movies together -- or at least talking on the phone about the movies after they ended. I think that was the last extended amount of time I got to spend with her before she got so sick. I've decided to do a similar weekend this year in her memory, though of course without the crazy phone calls, which I will miss terribly. I have several chick lit books I've been looking forward to reading, plus a stack of manuscripts to read for possible cover blurbs. I just got Sliding Doors on DVD, so I'll have to watch that. I may have to vary some from the chick flick theme because I also want to watch my House DVDs, but hey, good-looking, intelligent men make that qualify as chick-friendly in my book.

We're even supposed to get rain, which will be nice. Today may be my last chance to hit the swimming pool for a while, and my knees are really hurting today, so that may be my only way to exercise. After today, it may be too chilly for the pool for a few days, with temperatures only in the 80s (I know, that sounds warm to some, but to me, it's too cold to swim when it's below 90) -- and how awesome is that?

In all the excitement about the dog incident the other day, I forgot to mention the other shock that day. The TV news guy I have a huge crush on did a live shot from my neighborhood during the evening news that day, only a couple of blocks from my house! So close, yet so far! Even if I'd run out of the house at that moment, by the time I got there they'd have been packing up to leave, and chasing the TV truck down the street would hardly have left a positive first impression. If only I'd been out walking then and just happened upon the scene. And then if only the photographer on the story turned out to be one of the ones I used to work with, so I'd have an excuse to say hi.

Nah, that's a boringly realistic scenario. I should come up with a really good, chick lit/chick flick-worthy cute meet if I'm going to daydream.

I keep forgetting to post about this (I plead book brain), but I know there are a few Firefly fans around, and have you yet heard about the Browncoat Ball? It's a weekend of fun, dressing up, ballroom dancing and Firefly chatter in San Francisco, Sept. 22 through 24. I'm not going to be there this year because I had a previous commitment to spend that weekend stalking Alan Dean Foster and I haven't yet figured out either time travel or teleportation, but it will be so very cool and I'm so upset I can't do both events simultaneously (whoever holds it next year -- I'll wait to commit to anything else until you set the date). Visit the official web site for details. (And if getting to San Francisco is unlikely for you that weekend, you can always hang out with me at FenCon. Look for the little brunette a few steps behind Alan Dean Foster.)

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