It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye. Then it's just fun.

It stands to reason that I would enjoy reading novels about the publishing industry.
I love feeling in the know, getting the details of how a book get published, feeding my long-abandoned dreams of getting to read thru the slush pile for fun (I know, I KNOW.)
Olivia Goldsmith's The Bestseller is probably my favorite, although Judith Krantz's I'll Take Manhattan comes close (and the sex scenes are better).

Blind Submission, the latest entry into this rarified realm (snort), is the story of Angel Robinson, who begins the novel as a bookseller and avid reader, and then lands a job as the assistant to the head of a literary agency. Think The Devil Wears Prada (but the boss isn't quite so senselessly insane), only with books.

So, I actually have no idea where I got this book - I think it's a review copy, and it's been sitting on my nightstand for some time now. I really enjoyed it though - despite its sometimes clunky writing, improbably plot twists, and predictable ending, I just really liked following Angel through her days, watching her interact with authors - famous and wannabe, her nutty boss, and her flaky co-workers. Maybe I just enjoyed living vicariously through her, but sometimes that's ok too.

There's nothing wrong with a straightforward, fun book that for whatever reason grabs you and makes you want to keep reading.

"Well, there's something you don't see everyday."*

Looks to be about 18 inches of snow out there. Roads are pretty bad, and we are still considered in a state of emergency. However, the only emergency I am feeling at the moment is the fact that I am almost out of chocolate.

(UPDATED: and I need a set of size 15 dpns! Argh! Pencils could work, yes?)

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*Dr Venkman, in "Ghostbusters," upon seeing the giant Stay Puft marshmallow Man

I am JUST saying...

You know you're a mom when the pajama pants you find abandoned in the bottom of your bed have Thomas the Tank Engine printed on them.

Those icy fingers up and down my spine...

Capsule reviews of (mostly) recent library books:

One DOA, One on the Way - Mary Robison. Will someone else please read this book and tell me what the hell it’s about? Because I am not smart enough, nor do I care quite enough, to decipher its meanings. I thought it was nicely written, but just…just…WTF?

That Old Cape Magic – Richard Russo. Russo is back. Somewhat formulaic but not totally pat, and back to his quiet, hilarious, cutting, slice-of-life brilliant self. Back to his pre-Empire Falls (his most overblown book - well, until he wrote Bridge of Sighs) self. Thank the Lord (and his editor).

Beautiful Creatures – Teenage vampires/incubi/supernatural weirdos, but without Edward, so what’s the point? Next…

Remarkable Creatures – NOT the same as Beautiful Creatures, you sillies. This is Tracy Chevalier’s lovely historical novel about Mary Anning, a Victorian woman responsible for many important archaeological finds of the 18th century, causing science to revamp its views on extinction and society to revamp its views on God.

Of Men and Their Mothers – Mameve Medwed. Fairly improbable storyline (I say as the mother of not-yet-teenaged-sons), but a fast, fun read, and with a touching bit of subplot about mothers and their potential (teenaged) daughters-in-law.

Dewey…some cat who hangs out in a library…blahblahblah… – Really? WHAT was I thinking? Who cares?

The Story Sisters - Must. Finish. This.
The Help - Also this.

The ONLY problem I am having with those last two is that I picked up, totally on a whim, an unsolicited review copy of a novel that has been sitting round here for a few months, and it’s a real page-turner that I have no desire to put down. More on that later.

I'm sorry, was I saying something?

Well, that went well for what - 4 weeks?
Here I am, 5 days after the lame Hoffman post (so lame it has ONE comment) and I still:

- haven't finished that book
- haven't finished Beautiful Creatures (and probably won't)
- haven't started a single one of my Persephone books
- haven't even cracked open The Blythes are Quoted despite its quick-like-a-bunny delivery
- have to return most of my library books unread because - oh, look! Something shiny!
- ripped out another cowl THREE times (wrong yarn, wrong needles, lost and then made a stitch somewhere, leaving a gaping hole
- stared at the yarn for Gina's housewarming gift but have yet to even cast on
- knit the tricky first 12 rows of an adorable baby hat, put it down, picked it back up and proceeded to knit it backwards, so where all the smooth pretty knit stitches should be, were all lumpy, bumpy purl stitches.

If this is what I am like at almost-40, God help me in my eighties.
If I make it that long.

Crazy is as crazy does.

I am about halfway through Alice Hoffman's new book, The Story Sisters.
I have reached the following two conclusions:

1) The eldest sister is batshit crazy, perhaps driven there by a horrific event in her past or perhaps born that way. Hard to say. But she's beyond disturbed; she's deranged. Possibly psychotic.
And there's only so much magic you can wrap "deranged" and "psychotic" in before you just start looking a little silly.

2) I am beginning to wonder if anyone in this book makes it out alive.

Will keep you posted.

“People are always asking me about eskimos, but there are no eskimos in Iceland.”

Dance o' joy! I LOVED The Historian and look! Elizabeth Kostova has a new book out.
(Also, interview with author via Joshilyn Jackson's Faster than Kudzu.)

Also, check this:
A sequel to The Little Princess!
By Hilary McKay!
Hilary McKay rocks, and I can't wait to get my hands on this.

Or, for that matter, this:
That, my friends, is the ninth and final installment of the Anne books by LM Montgomery.
I. KNOW.
I didn't know either.
Turns out I have to order it from Canada because...why? I don't know.

The same stupid reason I have to go through all sorts of ridiculous interlibrary loan or online ordering rigamarole to get Penni Russon's books, instead of just walking into the local bookstore and buying them off the shelf? Publishers in the States are short-sighted and stupid and only want to publish John Grisham's crap books?

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*Bjork.

Girls on film, girls on film...

No, not really. A cat or two, lots of brothers, some yarn...no girls. Sorry. Move along.

For Christmas I gave Seg a camera. I didn't follow my gut; instead, I followed the advice of a well-meaning but ultimately deluded salesman, and the camera I gave Seg was craptacular. Until I can stomach the thought of purchasing either a) a digital camera for him, or 2) a new digital camera for me and gifting him with my old digital camera, I have granted benevolent permission for him to use my camera whenever he likes. It sits in its case on the hall table downstairs, and he may use it whenever and for whatever he likes. He doesn't need to ask; he does need to tell me when the batteries die.

I was trying to get a couple of photos of my latest knitting projects, to log on Ravelry and post on Facebook, and when I downloaded my photos, I also downloaded several weeks worth of Seg's efforts. Oh. My. God. People. He may not be the next Annie Leibovitz, but he's awesome and has an amazing sense of humor. I was howling out loud at some of his shots - whole photo shoots of his brothers posing and posturing and playing, and Seg must have just kept snapping away. I will keep him supplied with fresh batteries for the rest of his natural life.

Now, of course, after that build-up, can I post these photos? Nah. They're, most of them, full-on face shots of my guys, and I'm just not comfortable with that level of exposure. I'm sorry. But I can share a bunch of random photos that I asked him to take for me, or ones that feature members of the family whom I can rest assured will never, ever complain about their photo being plastered on the Internets - you know, like the cats. So away we go...

He LOOKS innocent but I assure you, HE IS NOT.

For his birthday Primo received a cool little game called Bananagrams. He doesn't so much dig the game itself as he does arranging the letter tiles on his dresser. There is always a letter of the day, and sometimes, more meaningful messages.

Primo's cat. He's dumb, but now that we've spent a fortune on fixing his cat manparts so he can pee out kidney stones whenever the heck he feels like it, he better stick around. This is the final photo in a veritable photo essay on "Septimus: The Boy Cat Who Pees Like a Girl." (Yes, essentially we paid a buttload of money for our cat to have sex reassignment surgery.)

Some book p0rn for you. Six new ones were my lovely Christmas gift, ostensibly from H, but selected, ordered, wrapped, and unwrapped by yours truly.

This is the photo you can click on to enlarge so you can see the titles. Go on, I know you want to. It's exactly what *I* do when other people post photos of piles of books on their blogs.

And some office supply p0rn for Badger. This was, and I quote Primo, "the second best present ever." If I'd known he was so easy, I might've been tempted to skip the DS. (But, really? Nice call, Aunt D. Incredibly thoughtful and right on the money for my fussy little scribbler.)

THIS is what happens when you allow your child free rein with your camera. (That rat's-nest of hair? Me. The blondie next to me? We call him Oedipus.)

The whole POINT behind this post: my first cowl ever. Knitted for H's cousin's daughter who is in the Peace Corps in Jordan, where apparently they don't heat houses, ever. So, it's kind of cold. This should help keep her warm, and it keeps your hands free, without any fussy scarf knotting or whatever. Knit with James C. Brett Marble Chunky in Denim, on size 13 needles.

Liked the cowl so much, I immediately cast on a second, as a gift for Peg from The Palmyra Sliver, who is in town for work, and with whom I have dined and drunk beer two nights this week. She's lovely, and we felt as if we'd know each other forever. Which weirdly, we may have, as it turns out she lived six houses down from me on my little dead-end street in New Jersey for one year in high school. Knit with Malabrigo Twist in Sotobosque, on size 11 needles.

Unlike my Seg, I neglected to take any pictures whatsoever of said beerfests.