I am in that strange limbo between turning in a draft and waiting for my edits to come back, and I haven't quite figured out what to do with myself.
Last night I dreamed that I was still working for the literary agent, and I sent out a tweet, filled with misspellings, demanding that the authors who had submitted manuscripts to the agent tell me at once what their favorite books were, and I woke up in a terrible state of panic before remembering that I have not worked for the literary agent for some time now. I often wonder what people who are not trying to write books or make albums or embark on some other creative project do with their free time; I do not mean this at all in a patronizing way, but in a very literal one. Watch television? Read? Learn to make frittatas?
The other day I ate a brunch and then went to the park and looked up at the sky and did not think about anything, and fell asleep on the grass for awhile, and that was nice. I have been thinking about writing essays on various things I am currently displeased by (the state of Publishing; young adult book reviews; the Patriarchy; a terrible werewolf terrorists book I recently read in which a female character is raped at length in a basement for no reason; et cetera) but each time I try I write a single, very splendid sentence, and then look at it for a while, and then become exhausted by the thought of any further effort.
I have been reading a lot, though: I am reading Richard Panek's The 4% Universe for research, which is very entertaining (astronomers! even meaner to each other than writers, who knew), and I read Emily St. John Mandel's newest book The Lola Quartet, which is cool and lovely and subtle and marvelously written. Each of her books gets better and better. I read L.P. Hartley's The Go-Between, which is a book about a boy in which nothing happens and yet I loved every page of it. I am just about to start Brigitte Lozerec'h's book Sisters, which I am quite excited about, and I found an Amanda Hocking book about mermaids or something in the free pile at one of my freelance jobs. I am hoping for underwater sex. And I am EXTREMELY EXCITED for the pending release of Sara Gran's new Claire DeWitt book next month. (Have you read Claire DeWitt and the City of the Dead? GO READ IT. GO GO GO.)
I turned off the comments so you can't actually tell me what you have been up to, but I hope your springs are all very productive and filled with good things, and nice things to eat and people who love you, and walks through the park or hiking in the mountains or skinny-dipping--I guess it is too early for skinny-dipping, maybe, but I'm getting a little homesick. If all goes well I will be out on the peninsula this summer thinking deep thoughts and writing my third book (how is this EVEN MY LIFE now, I need to send the universe a really big flower arrangement) and swimming in the ocean and maybe bicycling around and sleeping under the stars. But for now maybe I will blow off the term paper I am editing and go sit in the park again.