The Ultimate Writing Prompt

My driveway was plowed early yesterday--apparently after the newspaper was delivered, as I spotted its bright blue plastic wrapper peeking out of a snow bank this morning. I read the "Weekend Arts" section over lunch and hit gold in an article about the Winter Antiques Show, A Smorgasbord of Fine Art, the Strange and the Old:

At Allan Katz, there is a sculpture of two voluptuous nude women, one fondling the other’s breast, smoothly carved from a solid block of mahogany. This comical, curiously erotic fusion of autodidactic craft and neo-Classical style is believed to have been created by an unknown artisan about 1920 for a Buffalo sex cult.

1920. Buffalo. SEX CULT.

Think of the possibilities: Farce, murder mystery, morality tale, amorality tale...against a backdrop of snow and Niagara Falls.

The mind boggles.

Abby v Snow Monster

Someone built a snow(wo?)man at Burger Hill, Rhinebeck, our default dogwalking venue. Abby wasn't having any part of it. After much barking--plus a treat placed at its base--she cautiously approached before going up the hill with me.

She barked at it again on the way down. One can't be too careful...

I ♥ Anthony Weiner!

Sometimes histrionics are The Right Thing:



Unconvinced? Read this NYT editorial: Feckless and Cruel.

Sea Monsters in the Hudson!

Cecil the seasick sea serpent, from Beany + Cecil.

While doing research for the Bella Terra Northwest Lighthouses map, I happened across a 19th century New York Times article about a sea serpent off the coast of Oregon. Whereupon I searched the Times online archives for "sea serpent" and found a treasure trove. Apparently summer brought sea serpent sightings from around the globe, which the Times often covered with tongue firmly in cheek. In 1904 correspondent F. Carruthers Gould wrote, "It used to be called the Silly Season because of the perennial appearance at this time of the sea serpent..." (So Obama's talk of the "silly season" was nothing new!)

Some nearby sightings:

August 31, 1886, Wednesday
IN THE HUDSON THIS TIME.
THE SEA SERPENT DISPORTING HIMSELF NEAR KINGSTON.
RONDOUT, N.Y., Aug. 30.—Fifteen minutes before the steamboat Daniel Drew caught fire on Sunday afternoon a sea serpent was seen in the Hudson River between Coddington’s Dock and Kingston Point by a number of Rondout boatmen and boys who were in swimming. Capt. R. Brush, of the schooner Mary Ann, also saw it. All hands unite in saying that its head was raised about 6 feet out of the water, and it was of the shape and general appearance of the well known anaconda or water boa of the Amazon, but much larger, being about 2 feet in diameter on a line with the eyes. The throat is described as being dirty white, while the back appeared to be mottled with light and dark brown. From a point about 6 feet back of the eyes a fin appeared which extended the entire length of its body, or rather that portion of the body visible, which was about 55 feet. Half a mile below Coddington’s Dock Capt. Brush said the serpent lashed the water with its tail. The serpent was also seen by persons on the Dutchess County shore. The parties say it was not seaweed they saw, and that they were all “perfectly sober.”

September 11, 1886, Wednesday
EXIT THE SEA SERPENT.
NEWBURG, N.Y., Sept. 10.--R.H. Randolph, of Rhinebeck, in a communication to a local newspaper says: "For the past week the New-York and country newspapers have been circulating the story of the 'Hudson River serpent' that was seen in the river at various points between Catskill and Poughkeepsie. I was one of the eye witnesses of that serpent. While the steamer Daniel Drew was burning, a gentleman and myself were sitting on the bank of the river at Rhine Cliff. We saw a long black log floating down with the ebb tide. The log was apparently about 30 feet long, with a number of knots projecting that gave it the appearance of a row of fins. A root about 5 or 6 feet long at the end of the log would occasionally roll up with the swell and might to a person of strong imagination look like a head or neck. I made the remark at the time that if it was only a little later in the evening that would be taken for a genuine sea serpent. This is what was seen on Aug. 29 by a number who claimed that they saw the sea serpent.”

January 1, 1887, Wednesday
THE SEA SERPENT ON ICE.
TIVOLI, N.Y., Dec. 31.--The Captain of the schooner Many Ann, from down East, was the first person who saw the sea serpent near Kingston. Point last Summer. It has remained, however, for a man named Brown, who lives out back of Saugerties, to see the serpent in the Hudson in Winter. Brown reached Tivoli today en route for points South. Like pretty much everybody else who has seen the serpent Brown was “perfectly sober.” He said that at the commencement of the heavy snowstorm yesterday morning he walked a considerable distance up the Hudson for the purpose of setting his nets in the ice. Brown found a great crack in the ice. He kept tramping on. Suddenly, according to Brown, he felt a sensation as though the ice were being lifted up beneath him. He says he saw the ice roll, as it were, in waves, and then split in two, making a similar crack to the one he had jumped over a short distance to the southward. Brown says that before the waving of the ice had ceased a strange-looking animal, with two eyes nearly as big as saucers and of the color of terra cotta, glared at him fiercely. The head of the beast remained above the ice for several seconds, and Brown says he had an excellent opportunity of seeing it. Brown thinks it is the sea serpent that was seen off Kingston Point and elsewhere along shore last Summer, and that the billowy motion he describes in the ice was caused by the serpent lashing its tail. Brown is the first man on record in these parts who has seen the serpent after Dec. 1. Meanwhile every crack found in the ice on the frozen Hudson is being eagerly watched by untiring small boys, boatmen who have nothing else to do except to chew tobacco and “swap lies” at corner groceries, and perhaps one or two of the wise Washington scientists who gave their views so gravely to the public and who fought so bitterly among themselves over the matter, when the serpent was seen at Kingston Point.

The New View from Here: Same as the Old View

Out my front door, 2:47 pm. Can't wait till the temperature goes down (!) to 90°, as forecast for tomorrow.

The View from Here

As seen from my front door. FEH.

BookExpo Wrap-Up

Airily attired ladies hawking THE BURLESQUE HANDBOOK (HarperCollins/ItBooks) across from the Saudi booth, whose all-male staff and visitors kept their eyes averted.

As someone on Twitter commented after a day spent slogging through BookExpo, the book industry won't be dying anytime soon. However, BEA management wasn't on the ball, because many people were unaware that the show was down to 2 days (Wed & Thurs) from its usual 3. Thus they were miffed--to put it mildly--when they stayed at hotels Monday night and arrived for Tuesday appointments to find the show floor closed. That happened to 2 people I'd arranged to meet on Tues., who had missed the post-9am email "reminder" that the exhibition hall wasn't open till Wed. Due to popular demand (aka "complaints"), next year the show will go back to 3 days: May 24-26.

On Tues., after viewing Philippe Halsman's wonderful "Jump" photographs at the Laurence Miller Gallery, lunching with a literary agent and poking through fabric shops, I arrived at the Javits for a 3pm confab about the Virginia Festival of the Book with a Crown publicist. Fifteen lonely minutes later, I discovered that I was 24 hours early. Oops.

To console myself, I grabbed an ARC of Jennifer Donnelly's new YA novel, REVOLUTION, which entranced me until the 4:30 Editors Buzz Panel--and for the next 3 nights. It comes out in October. Don't miss it! I reviewed her first YA novel, A NORTHERN LIGHT, which deserved every prize it received, and then some.

As for the Editors Buzz, which unlike last year was SRO, I tweeted: "I see white people. They're all around me. And they're klutzy with microphones." Once again, most of the 6 panelists apparently hadn't practised their speeches beforehand, and droned/babbled on till I wanted to scream. Moderator John Freeman asked questions to help them out, but some were beyond saving. One notable exception was Cary Goldstein of Twelve, who--surprise!--started out as a publicist. He made a great case for THE EVOLUTION OF BRUNO LITTLEMORE by Benjamin Hale, a novel narrated by a talking chimpanzee who has an affair with a woman and commits murder. (I know: ICK! Goldstein says the book's fantastic, but I passed on picking up an ARC.)

After that I met Kevin Smokler, chief evangelizer for BookTour.com, for drinks & nosh at Hudson Yards Cafe. (Decent food! Reasonable prices!) Whether you're an author or a reader--but especially an author--you MUST check out BookTour.com. It's already good, but from what Kevin told me, it's going to get even better in the next few months.

On Wed. morning I attended an excellent program: "Designing & Executing an e-Strategy for Authors: A Publisher & Agency Perspective." No danger of being put to sleep by moderator Charlotte Abbott or panelists Kathleen Schmidt (Director of Publicity & Digital Media, Shreve Williams Public Relations), Ron Hogan (now ex-Director of E-Strategy, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) and Jason Ashlock (principal, Moveable Type Literary Agency). They said a lot of the same things about online publicity that I've been telling my clients, only better, plus offered much information and thoughtful analysis. See highlights on Twitter: #eauthor.

Enterprising salesman (possibly a paid shill) just before a show manager escorted him from the hall.

For the rest of Wed. and all of Thurs. I snaked through the show floor, giving inhouse publicists--most of whom were new to me--info about VaBook. They were way friendlier than when I started representing the festival 8 years ago. Evidently publishers have realized that book festivals are a) good events that b) sell books.

Book bloggers were treated like gold. HarperCollins threw a (sweltering) party for them at the Algonquin on Tues., where I reconnected with old friends, and met authors as well as bloggers. There was an equally packed (slightly cooler) reception downstairs at the Javits on Thurs afternoon. Quite a contrast to the party Unbridled Books hosted at BEA 6 or 7 years ago, where lit bloggers Ron Hogan (Beatrice), Mark Sarvas (The Elegant Variation) and Dan Wickett (Emerging Writers Network) were regarded as an exotic species.

(right) Matilda holds court on a baggage cart in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel.

From the Thurs. bloggers reception I went to the Radisson Martinique. There Ron Hogan and I gave a 90-minute "Polish Your Pitch" workshop for nearly 30 enthusiastic attendees of the Backspace Writers Conference & Agent-Author Seminar.

After that (still with me?), Darling Husband and I went to a party way downtown for The Faster Times, "a new type of newspaper for a new type of world," which officially launches in July. We soon left because I was starving and we had to pick up our bags at the hotel before catching the train at Grand Central Terminal. We just missed the 10:12pm, so got some dessert at Zaro's and moseyed over to the 11:12. And sat. And sat. Then we heard this: "Attention! The 11:12 to Poughkeepsie will be delayed indefinitely." Oyyyy... The train finally left nearly TWO HOURS later. We pulled into Our Gracious Home at 3:15am and fell into bed, aching all over, at 3:45. The birds were starting to tweet as I fell asleep over the denouement of REVOLUTION.

My BEA 2010 Stats

Acquired:
103 business cards
10 books
12 lbs of catalogs

Given away:
100 VaBook postcards
98 Book Promotion 101 business cards
2 Bella Terra Maps catalogs
2 Bella Terra lighthouse maps

Lost: 1 voice

Quote of the Day

“I ache for the return of dysfunction. Dysfunction had its problems, but at least dysfunction has function in its title. We are not functioning at all.”

--NY Assemblyman Daniel J. O'Donnell, quoted in NYT

Catch Me If You Can

After spending most of Oct-Dec in bed recovering from surgery for a herniated lumbar disc, I'm going to be zooming around again. Here's my events schedule (so far) thru May.

January 24 - Book Promotion 101 Teleseminar
3:00-4:30pm ET (12:00-1:30 PT)
Includes Q&A, Marketing Plan Worksheet & private 15-minute follow-up consultation.

---

January 29 & 30 - Space Coast Writers Guild Conference
Cocoa Beach, FL

• "Book Promotion 101"
• "Polish Your Pitch"
• individual 10-minute pitch coaching sessions

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March 19 - Book Promotion 101 Workshop
WriterHouse, Charlottesville, VA
9:00am-12:00pm
Guest speaker: Alison Larkin, author of The English American

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Virginia Festival of the Book, Charlottesville

March 18, 7:00pm - "Candy & Booze: Good for the Jews?" Moderator; with Katharine Weber (True Confections) and Max Watman (Chasing the White Dog: An Amateur Outlaw’s Adventures in Moonshine).

March 19, 4:00pm - "The Business of Book Reviewing: Changes & Challenges"
Host; Ron Charles, Washington Post, and freelancers David Montgomery, Rebecca Skloot and Katharine Weber; moderated by Bethanne Kelly Patrick.

March 20, 10:00am - "Book Promotion for the 21st Century">
Moderator; with nonfiction author Jag Bhalla, novelist Carleen Brice, book publicist Kelly Powers and science writer Rebecca Skloot.

---

Backspace Writers Conference, New York

May 27, 6:00pm - "Polish Your Pitch" with Ron Hogan

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Signs of the Times

Quote for the Day

“People think it’s so hard to leave New York, but it’s easy. You just pack up all your stuff in boxes and call a truck.”

--Garth Stein (THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN), quoted in NYT State of the Unions

That's what The Ex and I did 20 years ago (to our friends' horror), only we had our own truck so didn't even have to make a call.

The hard part is moving back to the city. Which I'm not about to do, though living two hours up the Hudson would be fine by me.

The Saddest Song

When in New York two weeks ago, I went to the musical revue, "Brother Can You Spare a Dime?" at The Triad on W 72nd St. (More about that in another post.)

Afterwards when I congratulated the show's director (and tenor) Bill Daugherty, he gave me a CD of his previous production, "When the Lights Go On Again." It's a lovely compilation of WWII songs, some of them little-known, with fantastic harmonies.

I was listening to the CD in the car this morning and this song wrung my heart--so much that I listened to it twice. Change just a few details and it could apply to many refugees today.

My Sister and I
Lyrics by Joan Whitney Kramer & Hy Zaret
Music by Alex Kramer

My sister and I remember still
A tulip garden by an old Dutch mill,
And the home that was all our own until ...
But we don't talk about that.

My sister and I recall once more
The fishing schooners pulling into shore,
And the dog-cart we drove in days before ...
But we don't talk about that.

We're learning to forget the fear
That came from a troubled sky.
We're almost happy over here,
But sometimes we wake at night and cry.

My sister and I recall the day
We said goodbye, then we sailed away.
And we think of our friends that had to stay,
But we don't talk about that.

Pinch-Hitting Can Be Fun!

Me and GalleyCat Ron Hogan. (Note the tan line on my wrist; I had just spent 2-1/2 days in Montauk.) Photo by Carolyn Burns Bass.

At the Backspace Writers Conference last week, I was slated to do just one program: "Promoting Like a Pro" on Friday morning. But when I stopped by for the Thursday afternoon mixer, I found out that MJ Rose & Doug Clegg had bailed on their "Buzz Your Book" program due to medical emergencies. So in the "show must go on" spirit (after all, the conference hotel was on Broadway), I offered to do a "Brainstorming with Bella" program so Rose & Clegg's 4pm slot wouldn't be empty.

I quickly jotted down an agenda and notes for the one-hour session, which I based on a segment of my Book Promotion 101 workshop. Then just as we were about to begin, Ron Hogan of GalleyCat volunteered to help out. He describes what happened next in Make Your Story Pitch Better, Faster, Stronger.

I sure am glad I'd stashed a big supply of Book Promotion 101 business cards & refrigerator magnets, plus Virginia Festival of the Book postcards, in my purse before I headed to the conference that day! Think I'll download some of my program spiels on my Palm PDA, so I'll be well prepared in case something like this happens again.

Bella's Back

Today is my birthday and I'm in my hometown of New York, so I am thinking of my childhood, especially the first name I was saddled with. When I was growing up, there were plenty of grandmothers named Bella--mine, for instance. (I've since learned that it's an old family tradition to be named after grandparents, as were my father and his sister, who suggested my name). But there were no other kids. I didn't even meet anyone named Bella till I was eight: a young Welsh woman at a party in London.

The girls I knew all had names like Suzie or Kathy or Linda or Debbie. I asked my mother countless times why she didn't give me one of those names. She countered that Bella meant "beautiful," and she thought I was the most beautiful baby in the world. Obviously the drugs she'd been given during childbirth affected her perception; plus she was terribly nearsighted. For not only did I look like my father, but my head was misshapen and pointed from the forceps that all obstetricians insisted on using then (unneccessarily in my case; I was born so fast that all he really should have had to do was catch). My only consolation for the endless puns and jokes about "Bella" that I was already being blasted with by the tender age of five--I've heard them all since then, trust me--was to name my dog Suzie.

Then a few years ago, I started running across dogs named Bella; there were four in Charlottesville, VA, alone, from an ugly little mutt to an enormous Great Dane. Last week I met another Bella dog in Denver. All of them are glossy black, so at least they share my fashion sense.

I'd seen grandparents' names like Jake, Max, Hannah and Sophie start with dogs, then make the jump to children. So I predicted that Bella would be next. And I was right: After not even breaking the top thousand since 1931, Bella went from #748 in the list of most popular baby names in 2000 to #181 in 2006. Isabella was #4 in 2006. So there are A LOT of Bellas (or, sadly, Izzies) starting to run around.

Bella has jumped to business too. Bed Bath & Beyond had a Bella bedding line; there are also Bella Notte and Baby Bella linens. Last night I walked by a downtown flooring store with Bellawood products and had dinner at Bella Cucina on upper Lexington Ave. Today on Columbus Ave. I passed Bella Luna restaurant and made dinner reservations for Saturday at nearby Isabella's.

P.S. And now there's Bella the movie, winner of the People's Choice Award at the Toronto Film Festival.

Pub Talk: Laurie Viera Rigler

Laurie Viera Rigler at Alice's Teacup.

On August 15, I went to an event for CONFESSIONS OF A JANE AUSTEN ADDICT, Laurie Viera Rigler's marvelous fiction debut. Her reading/signing was held at 6pm (teatime!) at Alice's Teacup Chapter II, which is situated in an old townhouse on East 64th Street.

Rachel Ekstrom, the hardworking associate director of publicity at Dutton & Gotham Books, arranged for me to meet her and Rigler a half-hour beforehand. Joining us was new assistant publicist Sarah Muszynski, who thought up the event and arranged it with Alice's Teacup. (She's a devotee of the 81st Street shop.)

We had a jolly good time discussing Jane Austen--that's "Miss Austen" to you--her world and her works, and the flame war over whether Fanny Price in Mansfield Park was a prig. (I'm not making this up; I saw it my own self.) I've never had a better pot of Lapsang Souchong anywhere, though I take issue with the website's declaration that the water is "boiled to 180 degrees"; also the violent turquoise walls--guaranteed to insult any complexion. They're bleached out in the photo above, but are in their glaring glory in the two below.

And what's with the butterfly-wing motif? There was a caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, but no winged insects that I can recall; or fairies. A Google search turns up a Gnat in Through the Looking-Glass, who tells Alice about the Bread-and-butter-fly, which survives on a diet of weak tea and cream. I know: I'm a nitpicker. A digressive one.

Sarah Muszynski in borrowed wings, glowing at the success of her brainchild.

The event itself was held in a room at the back of the second floor. For $30, attendees got a pot of tea, scads of scones and a copy of the book, which Rigler signed afterward. Several people bought multiple copies.

Every book event should be so cozy and cheery! The room was overflowing with readers (I counted 24 women and 3 men, including some in an adjoining area), many of them committed Janeites, happily sipping tea and making friends with their neighbors. No stone-faced hipsters here.

It's amazing what a good setting, good chow and a good book can do. Plus a good presentation, of course. Rigler's an excellent reader and speaker, and the audience gobbled her up with their scones. We were all thrilled to learn that's she's hard at work on a sequel.

Laurie Viera Rigler reading to a rapt audience at Alice's Teacup.

Pub Talk: Peter Charles Melman

Novelist Peter Charles Melman at Fanellli Cafe

This conversation really was in a pub. Two weeks ago, I met Peter Charles Melman, author of LANDSMAN, for drinks at Fanelli's, my old watering hole on Prince Street in Soho.

LANDSMAN chronicles the exploits of a young Jewish street punk in 1860s New Orleans, who winds up fighting for the Confederacy. After Pete's reading and talk at the Tattered Cover last month, during which he proved himself an impressive Cajun speaker, I invited him to be on my "Nice Jewish Boys Gone Wild" panel at next year's VaBook Festival. (I'm looking for one or two more authors to fill out the panel, so if you know any prospects, send 'em my way.)

I have no revelations on publishing to share from this meeting. We just talked about this and that: my misspent youth (a good chunk of which was passed at Fanelli's); Pete's impending fatherhood (his wife is due this Sunday); Jews in Louisiana (a branch of the Standers settled in Opelousas); where Pete got the inspiration for LANDSMAN (from a comment by Tony Horwitz in his CONFEDERATES IN THE ATTIC; yup it's a small world).

In short: We had a swell time. And Fanelli's is still a great place to while away a weekday cocktail hour. Or two.

Back in My Old Hometown Out East*

There are 8 million people in New York City and I've been trying to meet with all of them since getting here last Friday. It hasn't quite worked out; I've seen only about 7.9 million. But I still have another day and a half to go.

Seen on Saturday:

• An Asian bride and groom in wedding finery posing for photos in front of a closed Metro-North ticket booth at Grand Central. I'm still trying to figure out why.
• Two young women sitting on the stairs at Grand Central, behind signs reading "Sitting on stairs absolutely prohibited." Per Woody Guthrie, the other side of the signs didn't say nuthin' (i.e., a restaurant ad).
• A man in a Che Guevara t-shirt singing "Amazing Grace" in the tunnel to the Times Square shuttle. I was tempted to stop and ask him about his competing messages.
• Three hulking Heidis in the Times Square subway station. No one over age 12, or over 5' and 150 lbs should wear petticoats and knee socks.
• A full-car subway advertisement for Westin Hotels. I thought someone had been sick on the seat, then I realized it had been dappled to resemble the forest floor.

*a nod to Damon Runyon

BEA Party Girl: Weinstein Books

At the Chelsea Green party, I ran into GalleyCat Ron Hogan, which was happening so often that I was afraid his wife was going to start having suspicions about us. To give her more basis for jealousy, Ron gave me directions and the magic password to the Weinstein Books (formerly Miramax Books) launch party, which was conveniently launching at 9pm.

Ever the Party Guy to my Party Girl, Digby Diehl was game for more gallivanting. So after bundling our dinner companions into a taxi, he and I trundled just a few short blocks up 9th Ave. to the fabu Maritime Hotel.

As soon as we got into the cavernous dark bar upstairs and positioned ourselves under an a.c. vent, we were accosted by a succession of Comely Young Things of both sexes offering to take our (FREE!) drink orders. Woohoo! We had arriven!

Iced refreshments in hand, we made the rounds inside and out, and onto a deck that leads to a whole 'nother part of the establishment. There we bumped into my dear former PW colleague Mark Rotella, one of the people I had most hoped to see. Back inside we mingled and chatted--bellowed, really, as the sound system kept getting cranked higher and higher--with people such as Paul Slovak of Viking, a Big Editor whose name I can't remember (I'm sure he can't remember mine either, so we're even), a shmancy London agent (ditto), Ron Hogan (natch!) and a really nice YA author whose card I lost.

I am so blackmailing Ron Hogan (left) with this pic;
Digby Diehl is on right.

Digby got it into his head that the Weinstein brothers should be at their own party. We asked around, but they were nowhere to be found and we didn't see anyone of large enough girth to pass for either of them. They were probably at the New Yorker party.

Eventually my frayed vocal cords and aching head were no match for the pounding music, so I hoisted a goodie bag containing all of two ARCs--Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam (short stories about young doctors) and Alex and the Ironic Gentleman by Adrienne Kress (preteen historical fiction)--and shared a cab uptown.

And so to bed.

Update:
Digby reminded me that Big Editor was the nattily tailored Steve Rubin, president and publisher of Doubleday. Shmancy agent was Ed Victor--The Mr Big of publishing, per the UK Guardian, which has this priceless quote (my new mantra): 'I've always lived a life where people have said, "Look at him. Who does he think he is?" And who I think I am is someone living life to the brim.'

BEA Party Girl: Chelsea Green

After ducking out of the Editors Buzz Forum, I met up with Renaissance man Digby Diehl (author, reviewer, TV correspondent, former head of Harry N. Abrams, journalist, etc.), who was to be my date for the Chelsea Green party honoring Naomi Wolf, author of THE END OF AMERICA: Letters to a Young Patriot (coming out in August). Digby had an entourage with him: agents BJ Robbins and Rich Barber, and husband-and-wife authors Sid & Nancy (yes, I made the obvious joke) Kirkpatrick. I only had a plus-one invitation, but we figured what the hell and took off en masse.

The line for taxis was appalling at the Javits, so we walked to 9th Avenue, thinking our chances would be better there to catch a cab downtown. As did about 100 others, so we trudged another long block and oozed our hot and sweaty selves (did I mention how repulsively hot the Javits Center was?) into the subway.

After some touristy wandering back and forth across lower 8th Ave., we located the party site in a residential building on Gansevoort Street. The lobby was deliciously air conditioned, and some of us were all for staying down there. But we thought there'd probably be COLD DRINKS upstairs, so we trooped into the elevator.

We piled into the party, which was crowded, noisy and very very hot. (Does no place in NYC have properly functioning air conditioning any more?) I was swilling water till Digby led me to the table where a sweet young couple was dispensing wine sorbets. Ah bliss! There's nothing like getting tiddly on a snow cone...

We sought shelter in the much cooler living room, where I talked with Joyce Meskis of the Tattered Cover (my neighbor in Denver) and others. Then we were herded back into the kitchen area for a talk by Naomi Wolf (left).

And can she ever talk! That woman could sell shoes to snakes; I was ready to follow her anywhere. Per the catalog description: her book "exposes how the escalation of Executive Power has eroded the Constitution's core values and systems, limiting our Congress to make laws, and our courts to interpret them – a scenario that our Founding Fathers foresaw and warned against."

We were ready to storm the barricades after that; instead Digby, the Kirkpatricks, Barber, Chelsea Green rights guy Henry Poirot and I went storming into the streets in search of dinner.

After more wandering about, we settled on Pastis Brasserie on 9th Avenue. The Restaurant Gods must have been smiling on us, as walking in and getting a table for six at 7:30 pm on a spring Friday is nearly impossible. (I didn't know that Pastis is a sibling of Balthazar.) A half-hour later, the place was jammed. Someone in the group spotted Laurence Fishburne waiting for a table, but I didn't see him. Our table was right by the door to the toilettes, which have a common sink for femmes et hommes. We noticed a few people doing a lot of scurrying in and out of there, followed by nose wiping and sniffing. I remember similar activity at a SoHo boîte I used to frequent way back when. Le plus ça change...

BEA Party Girl: LitBlog Co-op

All through dinner after the GalleyCat party, I kept making noises about being a Good Girl and skipping the LitBlog Co-op Party because my voice was in tatters and I needed rest. Blame it on the mojitos again, but I giddily piled into a taxi with Tish Cohen, Susan Henderson and Patry Francis, and decamped for Sheridan Square.

After some very clever sleuthing, we located The Kettle of Fish and elbowed our way into yet another crowded, noisy bar full of publishing types.

I said to a guy, "You look very familiar; I know I've seen you before. Who are you?" He said his name was Arthur Phillips, which didn't ring a bell. Then I remembered: "Were you on 'Jeopardy'?" Why yes, he was. "I was rooting for you!" I croaked. And I'm rooting for him even more, after reading his piece in yesterday's NY Times: My Dog Days. Oh yeah, and he also wrote Prague, The Egyptologist and Angelica.

I had a great conversation with editor-turned-agent Dan Conaway, aka "Mad Max Perkins" of the late, lamented BookAngst 101; pictured below (in glasses) with Mark Sarvas of The Elegant Variation.


I talked to a whole bunch of other people. Then by 11 (or was it later?), voice and legs shot, I tottered into the subway. My dinner dates were still going strong, but like Scarlett I was saying to myself, "Tomorrow is another day." A day I planned to walk, walk, walk, and talk, talk, talk.

And so to bed.