I want this book very, very badly: Dear American Airlines.

(I wonder how much is left on my gift cards…)

Wow, this kid is crazy. In a good way.

In gearing up for the long journey I’ll be taking with The Good Daughters, I have been reading up on agents, how to find them, what they do, etc. Apparently many literary agents blog. I find this strange, for some reason, but I suppose they are people just like anyone else. That’s the rumor, anyhow.

The three main ones I’m starting with are Jonathan Lyons, Nathan Bransford, and Miss Snark (recently retired from blogging, but all her archives are up). All three feature great info, great writing, and great humor — all things I need!

Of course, being overly opinionated, I felt compelled to leave a few comments here and there. Now I’m just hoping I didn’t piss off Jonathan Lyons with my explanation of why I reply to form rejections asking for more info, which is one of his pet peeves. (Reason: sheer hope!) He responded… firmly, but he didn’t block any of my additional comments. I’ll take that as a sign of no hard feelings.

I also won’t ever ask him for more info if he sends me a canned rejection.

(As expected, Andy “yelled” at me for not being more strategic — or just plain thoughtful — in my communication with a potential agent.)

After several days of scrolling so much that my index finger moves in my sleep and my contacts are drier than a camel’s butt, I have to say: I LOVE THIS!

I think getting geeked out by reading about the publishing industry is a pretty serious sign of delusion. And isn’t delusion a requirement for being a good writer? I’m on the right track!

One of my “finds” today was this poorly formatted, long interview with Dave Eggers (author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius — that’s the title, not a compliment). The interviewer is annoyingly pretentious, and the interviewee is overly defensive (though I too would have reacted poorly to the smarmy questions) but in spite of it all, I’m glad I read it, mostly for the addendum (so if you want to skip to the end, feel free).

Oh, and to understand the title of this post, just read this (short) post from Jonathan Lyons’ blog.

From Paulo Coelho’s newsletter “Warrior of Light”:

The common man worries too much about loving others, or being loved by them. A warrior knows what he wants - that is all in his life and that is where he concentrates all his energy. The common man spends the present acting as winner or loser, and depending on the results he becomes persecutor or victim. The warrior, on the other hand, worries only about his acts, which will lead him to the objective he has traced for himself.

Alex: she views it as an investment in me, and also as one of those things you do as a parent — you support your child in whatever way you can

Alex: i mean, if you were to replace the words “law school” with “drug habit,” there would be a different sentence there

Alex: one that ends in “boot camp

From “Getting There”:

We spend years and years of our lives discovering who we are, and it’s not a sudden realization, but one day you figure out who you are, that you are the type of person who likes to be in charge, or you are the type of person who likes to be given a list of tasks. Maybe you’re the type of person who can’t have fun unless you know that the other people around you are having fun, or maybe you’re the type of person who has fun no matter what. And if you’ve had enough therapy you’re okay with that, you’re okay knowing that this? This is who I am.

.

Lately a lot of things have been pushing me toward an edge. What edge, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I’m still not. But wherever this is, I’m standing here, looking down, looking up, looking back, and looking around, and trying to figure out which is the best way to go.

I spent this past year trying to do many things. First and foremost, I tried to be a good daughter and a good lover. I tried to be a good dog-momma. I tried to be a good writer, and a good account manager. I tried to be a good friend. For a while I even tried to be a good dancer. What was I thinking?

But seriously, I tried to do a lot of things, and sometimes I succeeded at some of them, and sometimes I succeeded at none of them.

Before this year, I thought I had learned from my father not to try to do too much at once — to be the master of one trade instead of the jack of all. I thought I had learned from my mother to pursue your dreams and never think you’re not good enough, never get discouraged when you face setbacks.

What I really learned, at least this year, is that I still have a heck of a lot to learn. And as usual, I have to learn the hard way: by doing and experiencing for myself. By making mistakes.

But that’s okay, because now I know more about who I am. I am not the kind of person who can do everything — at least not well. I am the kind of person who wants to numb her mind with television every now and then. I am the kind of person who can’t cook to save her life. I am the kind of person who is willing but still sometimes afraid to go after her dreams.

And that’s okay.

Now that I know a little bit more about myself, I am setting new goals and reorganizing my priorities. I am making changes where change is needed. I am letting go of the bad, even if it means losing some good too. I am facing my fears head on — I am being Batman, as Andy would say.

So, cliché as it may be, I’m standing here on the edge of this cliff, and I’m going to leap. I’m going to have faith in myself, and leap.

And I’m pretty sure I’m going to fly.

It’s been a long, crazy, rollercoaster of a week for many people I know (myself included) so I figured we could all use a little cuteness to start our weekend off right.

Introducing Baby Kira and her Mischievous Munchkin Face!!

If that doesn’t make you want to jump right into your computer and squeeze/kiss/nibble on those cheeks, you have no soul.

Also, I’m pretty sure I gave her that elephant. Aunt Kristan for the win!

(Photo courtesy of her father, my cousin Ari. Or at least his Facebook page.)

Do you know what being all caught up with Dooce is like? It’s like being forced to read Harry Potter one page at a time. And do you know what being forced to read Harry Potter one page at a time is like? It’s torture.

TORTURE!

.

(And yes, that means I have read every. single. (currently public.) post. on Dooce.com.)

So you know how you think you’ve got something all figured out? Like, you’re choosing between A and B, and it’s a really hard choice, but you finally pick one, and you put a lot of effort into getting comfortable with that decision, and then all of a sudden C comes into the picture, and you’re like, WTF?

Yeah, it’s like that.

As of tomorrow I will have been living in Cincinnati for one year. That is, three hundred sixty-five days. Or, one twenty-second of my age. I.e., four point five four five four five four five four (…) percent of my lifetime.

One whole year.

I find it hard to believe that this much time has passed since I graduated from Carnegie Mellon, since I packed up my dorm room and moved in with Andy, since I started working and paying bills and living life in the Real World.

Especially in the region of the Real World called Cincinnati, Ohio.

Growing up in Texas, I had enough geography to worry about in my own state, so I didn’t think too much about the rest of the U.S. or the world. Case in point: at age 4 I thought that because (a) Grandma lives in Florida, and (b) I have two Grandmas, then (c) there must be 2 Floridas. S-M-R-T!

With that said, it should come as no surprise that I knew nothing about Cincinnati until Andy moved here for his job, and even then I only learned it was in Ohio. “That must mean it’s close to Cleveland, right?” “Um… no.” “Oh.”

When I got here, I saw that there wasn’t much diversity (black and white and not much else), and I didn’t have any friends, and there was NO FREAKING BUBBLE TEA*, and naturally I thought, “This isn’t going to work.”

But a year later, when Angie came to visit and I drove her to places like Eden Park, Fountain Square, and Jungle Jim’s, I realized that somehow Cincinnati has grown on me. And I don’t mean like a fungus. More like a new haircut: you don’t like it at first, but then it gets a little longer, a little more familiar, and you realize it actually suits you all right.

Actually, that analogy doesn’t really do justice to how I felt driving down I-75 with Angie, telling her about the traffic patterns and the weather and my favorite places to eat. What I felt was ownership of this place, this small Midwestern town that I now belong to. Cincinnati has become my home — one of my many homes — and I’m happy, because I used to be afraid that that might never happen.

I’ll admit, Cincinnati didn’t sweep me off my feet the way Madrid did, but not every romance is going to be a whirlwind or a fairytale like that. Doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

All this introspection comes at a good time — the one-year mark — because I’m typical and I like to think of my life as having milestones or landmarks. I think this is one of them. I think this is going to be a pivotal moment, a turning point that could make or break me. I’m about to take a big blind leap into the unknown. And I’m glad I’ll be doing it here, in Cincinnati, where I’ve learned a little bit more about myself by learning a little bit more about where I am.

*Update: I have found bubble tea! See comments below.

–

On a somewhat related note, I finally found what I’ve been searching for. It’s what this next year will be all about: