In my head, that is. I had a dream that Lars was telling me I was a suck-ass rider. "You don't handle Oso well at all. Don't you have any control?"
Two nights before, I had a dream that I had a new joust horse that could talk. It did not know my name, and therefore referred to me simply as 'Rider.' "Hey Rider, let's take this trail!" "Hey Rider, there are brambles. Lift your legs."
I also had the obligatory Faire nightmare, wherein we were opening and I had no costume, had not memorized my scripts, didn't know my fight choreography and had left my armor at home.
Anxiety much, Kel?
Though part of me hates to have spent a day off accomplishing nothing around the house (or in the land of Kelly Stories), I have to say today was well spent.
I drove to Hawthorne and took the train into the city to meet Tammy for lunch. I've not seen her in a long time, certainly not since my weird-freaky-meltdown email which I cringe to recall (and which neither of us mentioned; I hope that she has forgotten it entirely). We had a most pleasant meal and excellent conversation. We chatted at length about books, both raving about Kenneth Oppel's 'Airborn' and both poo-pooing Jason Hightman's 'Saint of Dragons.' I was commenting on other Advanced Reader's Copies that I had, or that I wanted, and she said "Trickster's Queen?"
"Our Random House rep comes next Monday," said I. "I plan to pester him for a copy then."
"Why wait?" Tammy pulled a copy from her bag. "I didn't know if you already had one." And then she signed it for me. In all the time I've known her, I've never had anything signed. Weird. I've had lunch with her half a dozen times, but I couldn't bring myself to ask her to sign a book. Then - and this just flummoxes me - she grinned weakly and said "I hope you like it." Gods! She makes a living - and a very good one! - as a writer, and still she worries. I find that immensely heartening.
On the PATH ride back to Hoboken, I sat in a corner of the front car and attempted to interpret a Picot Trellis crochet pattern with some success. The conducter, a veryvery tall black woman, grinned at me. "Ah, a woman after my own heart!" She's been crocheting since she was eight. Me? A couple of months, though I've not picked it up for many weeks. We chatted crochet and patterns and yarn addiction for the rest of the ride. Great fun!
Back in NJ, I ran errands and then went to help with the Meg Cabot signing at work. OK, Meg? Gorgeous. Sweet. Funny as all get out. Chatterbox like me. Speaks far too quickly - like me. I got to meet her before the discussion and signing. Linda introduced me as an 'expert' in teen fiction and an aspiring author. "Oh," Meg said, smiling wryly. "It's Hell." Then she asked if I'd submitted anything. I told her about my first attempt. "That's a GREAT rejection letter!" she insisted. And you know, it is. This just reinforces that I have to find time to revise and send the puppy back in. It's not brilliant literature, and it is not epic and glorious and grand, but it is a good story with damned fine characters. Yes?
Anyway, I talked to the HC rep that came out with Meg for a bit. She was very nice, and somehow I ended up with the promise of ARCs sent to me! YAY!!!!!!!!
So... I'll be very weary on the morrow, but no complaints. Nice day. Oh, yes.