Checking In
I miss you.
There’s really no other reason to be writing right now, as I’m not done with the edits, though I have made great progress. Still, my mind keeps wandering to the much “funner” Substack possibilities I could be writing, and wondering how all of you are, and how your summers are going1.
Mine is very different this year, because I’m spending it in my new home. It. Is. Wonderful.
I wake up in the morning The dog smashes me in the face with her paw, or shakes her head over my face, whipping me with her ears between 5:00 am and 6:30, and I immediately walk her the thirty or-so yards to the beach for a morning toilet. We head back, she eats her breakfast, and then she sleeps (must be nice) while I edit.
The editing consists of changes I know I want to make, fixes to structure that have been recommended by people I respect, and the tweaks the five hundred-foot view from above that leaving it for a while affords. There is a massive amount to do, and I’m fully aware that if anyone actually accepts the book, they’ll want their own changes as well.
I attended a “pitching to agents” workshop a couple of weeks ago, and next week I pitch to eight agents at another workshop. I simultaneously feel not at all ready, and fuck-it ready, if you know what I mean. Turns out writing a book is the easy part, and the really annoying stuff doesn’t start until one is writing the just-so letters to random agents who all have their own set of must-haves, dos and don’ts, and work for free unless and until a publisher picks up the book. So the agent needs to be really convinced the book will sell.
“What’s your book about” in one sentence, then in one paragraph, then in one page. Make it compelling, show how it applies to the buying public, and why it’s relevant now as opposed to any other time, even though, should it actually be picked up by a publisher, it can be anywhere from one to three years until it comes out.
Pitching is the ultimate “choose me” endeavor, and I’m of an age and privilege where that kind of thing makes me want to burn down the village. But I digress.
After I’ve done some of the morning editing, the dog wakes up, and we usually return to the beach for the 8:00 am dog play group, where nice dogs of all sizes see how dirty and disgusting they can get as they run and play with each other, or on their own.
Alice’s best friend is a corgi named Misty. Here you can see an example of “recall-ish,” whereby I call her, and the two dogs run toward me in the letter, but not the spirit of the law.
Being here is what I need right now, but I miss the more frequent visits with my father that more time in the city allows. I talk to him just about every day, and the Thing 2 pair are keeping him good company while I’m not there. He’ll be coming to the Wellfleet house next week for a few days, a trip that I hope very much is not one of his last. He’s not doing well, but he hangs in there.
I sit on the patio and read as neighbors and strangers pass by, or stop to chat, sometimes sitting for a bit, often just leaning on the wall for a minute or two. It’s the perfect flavor of parallel play for me - frequent, light touches of contact, but nobody really in your business.
And of course, there are parades to be watched.
It’s not at all lonely.
I’ve had some of my favorite visitors here, including my Ohio chosen family that has make the trek each year for the last eleven. I’ve watched the girls grow into terrifyingly smart tweens, and this time they brought a one year-old poodle puppy who had Alice clutching her pearls, and gave her a run for her puppy money.
“I was never like that!” you could hear her protesting.
Oh pulease, beagle.
Now I’m hosting friends from California, the Thing 2 pair arrives today, and then another friend comes just as the Californians departs on the weekend.
In addition to all the peopling, I also just finished one of the weirdest books I’ve read in a while. Butter is possibly a feminist anthem, or maybe a book about self-discovery, or maybe it’s about expectations, and society. All I know is, I got distractedly hungry reading it.
So people, reading, lots of beach with the dog, new friends and old, and actually getting editing done.
Yes, I know. A shoe is sure to drop. At least one. And there has been intermittent mayhem of course in the month — I’ll tell you about that in another post.
I’ll continue my posting hiatus, as I must get the edits finished by the pitching workshop. Turns out, focusing really does help get stuff done.
Or winter, if you’re in the upside down part of the globe.
It is really good to hear that you are settled in and doing about as well as any of us can expect to do these days. I am jealous of the parades. You have my sympathy on the marketing part of being creative. I resented every minute of it. Just remember that all those agents and editors are people who did not have the courage (and skill?) to sit down and actually write a book.
I’m in a similar space with my writing, and you’ve captured the sausage making perfectly. Awaiting feedback from that bird’s eye view to go into next phase of revision. A beagle and a beach sound like the perfect distractions. Mine are a heeler and high desert.