Pre-dawn Ramblings

It's 5:08 a.m. An ungodly hour. I've been up since three. Chalk it up to child #3 waking me at 2:00, and then child #4 waking me at 3:00. Becuase child #4 refused to go back to sleep, and because he's too young to reason with, at 4:00 I said "F*** it" and came out to my computer, with #4 in tow.
But even if I wasn't blaming my current sleepless and tired condition on rugrats, it's the curse of a writer. I can sometimes come into a half-awake state, when ordinary people might punch their pillow, roll over and go back into deep sleep, only to find my brain is already in mid-thought of a scene and sleep is impossible. I've gone to bed, only to get up again because my brain won't shut down. And the fact that it's been ten years since I had to work a nine-to-five job means I frequently sleep when I'm tired and write when the spirit moves me, day or night, because I don't have to follow the patterns of most of the rest of the world. Though of course the rugrats' sleeping schedules play into it. Still, as a writer, pre-dawn ramblings are pretty common.
I could really use some coffee.
So I wonder if Dunkin Donuts is open yet. I think #4 and I are about to take a drive in search of a good cup of java.

Flash Your Breasts

Okay, with a title like that, what is this blog entry about? Flashing them on the subway? I've been known to flash my significant other in the morning as he drives off to work, me at the front door--just to give him something to remember me by as he makes his way through the day. But that's not what this is about. No . . . LADIES, get your mammogram.
DO THEY WEAR HIGH HEELS IN HEAVEN is out from Red Dress Ink. The heroine in it has breast cancer, and it's her odyssey through illness with her friends and family, the type of experiences in which you learn who you can really count on when the chips are down. When I was hospitalized, near death, sick as a dog (though that would be an insult to dogs) 12 years ago with a really stubborn bout of Crohn's disease, my best guy friend abandoned me . . . and the woman across the street, who was a friend but not that close to me, was there for me through thick and thin in ways that still choke me up. Illness clarifies life. I'm gratified by the really nice reviews the book is getting and some of the reaction to the universal truths I tried to write about . . . but even MORE wonderful would be if it prompted some women to get their mammograms. Don't put it off!! Just do it. Yeah, the machine flattens them like pancakes and contorts them in ways that likely would delight someone into S&M, but it's not that bad.
So, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and in honor of all the sisterhood of women out there who have fought the disease and both won and lost, flash your breasts at your nearest mammogram technician.

New York State of Mind

Just returned home from a crazy three whirlwind days in Manhattan, racing from meetings with editors and my agent, and trying to fit in some visiting with old friends. In one single day, I took a train from Long Island, checked into my hotel, fed the baby, took a cab down to the West Village, met with one of my editors, ate lunch, took a cab further downtown to Wall Street area, had coffee with another of my editors, took a cab back to hotel to feed baby, bundled him into a cab to Upper East Side to visit with my agent, had cocktails, fed the baby, . . . and it went on from there to a French restaurant. My day started at dawn and ended at 11:00 p.m. And even as I was on all cylinders, so was New York.

As a native New Yorker, I love Manhattan. It is home to the world's publishers, as well as millions of people. And J.D., who went with me, noted, "It really does have an energy." And it's true. The second you step foot off the train, you just feel it. Ambition and energy, personality, and a true melting pot.

My second day in New York was just as harried as the first, with my first meeting before 10:00 a.m. In the end, it was all good career-wise, and it was good personally, because there's a part of me that loves reconnecting with New York. I miss it when I am away too long.

But I loved coming home. Home has a different energy. It's piles of laundry and little kid laughter. It's a million things to do and a weariness--rewarded with hugs and sleepy angelic faces. It's sanctuary from the rest of the world. It's like my comfy chair, a place to rest and curl up. It was good to go. It was good to come home.