It’s the Jewish New Year. I’m not sure but I think I’m being punished by God for observing the holiday at a friend’s home in Miami rather than at synagogue. I obviously haven’t shed my childhood subconscious imprint of God as an intimidating figure like I thought I had. How do I know that? My intention was to utilize the blessed hours normally gobbled up by my publishing job to work on, “THE BOOK.”
So much for that.
I came to Miami thinking that my manuscript-in-progress was safely transferred onto my laptop. How hard could it be to move a document from one Mac computer to another? Enough to make me late for work yesterday, that’s how hard. For some reason the typically simple procedure of attaching a Word document to an email message — sent to TWO email addresses, mind you — was a technological disaster.
Thinking that all systems were go and that I’d be set to work on THE BOOK from the twenty-seventh floor of a tony downtown Miami skyscraper apartment overlooking the river, I left for work with an overnight duffle bag and my trusty laptop. I’d put in a day’s work as the publicity department then boogie down the highway for an evening of entertainment with a dear friend, spend the night on her comfy Moroccan day bed then wake up to some strong espresso and hours to write while she painted.
The technology demon didn’t give up that easily. He (definitely not a she) tagged along to Miami to terrorize all of my portable Apple devices. Trying to share a musical selection from my iTunes library with said friend, I lost my entire laptop music library. Then my iPhone went on the fritz displaying the wrong time and losing phone numbers in my contacts file. I could go on about Mercury being retrograde, but here is not the place. Oy.
This event cost about two hours before I even got to THE BOOK. Two hours didn’t result in repair so I moved onto the business of book writing. Click on my email, and open up the document and get cracking, the luxury of time before me. To make a long story short, what I opened up when I finally got access from only one of my email accounts was a dated, abbreviated draft of THE BOOK. All I had transported was three paragraphs. Three paragraphs that aren’t even still in the book.
Ok. I didn’t make it synagogue God. That doesn’t make me a bad person, I know that. I can find you anywhere, isn’t that what we’re supposed to believe? I promise, I’ll take some time to be reverent. I’ll pound my chest with my fist to ward off the ills of the past year. I’ll clear the way for newness to take center stage. I’ll even do a ceremony with my friend, throw in a little Hebrew, and find some serious moments to reflect. I promise.
In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have all of my electronic apparatus made unusable. I get it. Today’s for holiness, for spiritual observance. I’ll be with you in a minute.
And, thank you for allowing this blog post to make it through.
Once upon a time, I was passionate about this blog. I derived great pleasure in sidling up to it most mornings and unloading whatever form of creativity surfaced that day. I intended the blog to house artistic expressions from my head and the gifted skulls of others. I would grow my very own Gertrude Stein, Parisian salon right here on my computer screen.
Then someone gave me advice.
Provide information, they said. Don’t muse so much unless you are going to repeat the same words over and over to improve your SEO. (I asked what SEO was and who the heck cared about it?)
Apparently, if I wanted any eyeballs to drink in my bloggy blog, I needed it. And, I needed it improved.
I listened like a good blogging student and blogged about books , blogged about publishing, tried to distill my sixteen years in the business into little bytes that would enlighten aspiring authors and amuse the seasoned ones. I would also use my blog to showcase books and authors that I currently work with.
This made some of them very happy. They didn’t care how many people read or didn’t read my blog. Authors, as a breed, are generally grateful to see their name and their book (preferably with a book cover) in almost any public medium. Gluttons for attention, in a good way.
I was building an audience. I was building steam. I was getting good at this rapid fire, short form style of communication and was having a bit of fun with it.
Then came, “THE BOOK.” In spite of all I know about the business and how much of it is currently in peril, I myself, morphed into a would-be author. Part masochist part lover of a challenge I picked up my pen and began my very own tome. Whether or not this has anything to do with a death urge, I committed to spill my guts on the same computer screen daily, no longer to blog but for this entirely other purpose. All the time I spent typing away would have to focus on the subject of my book.
I’ll give you a hint. It’s for women.
Now that I’ve narrowed the audience for you, I have to apologize for leaving you out of my current creative process and ask you to be patient with me. I promise it will be worth it. I may even grow a tributary blog that will invite you into the private world that is my book.
In the meantime, let me know if you’re enjoying the occasional iphoto snapshot. Are you still loving the sunrise/sunset views from my penthouse terrace as much as I am?
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