Moment Magnitude

Chapter Six

The year is almost finished - and I posted another chapter on Plot Participant.

Each time, I get a fleeting urge to knuckle down and finish the whole damned manuscript, but I never do.

Anyhow, go check it out, Chapter Six.

Chapter Five

It's taken months, but Chapter Five of Plot Participant is up.

Where Have I Been?

I have not vanished from this virtual world.

The real world has occupied so much of my time, that I have been left with almost no brain energy to write or update.

Okay, maybe I updated a little. Intrepid readers, take note: Some newer images in one of the photo albums. Comments management on this wildly popular post. Tweaking the first chapter on Plot Participant - heck, tweaking the entire archiving mechanism for Plot Participant. I dare you to go and hunt.

Rather than go into a lengthy diatribic/diatribical (I don't have my Websters dictionary with me; note to self: Self, bring your second copy out here) essay, I shall opt for an enumerated list of activities that have kept me from writing:

1. The IRS audit. I completed the third and final session of the first round of this damned process - the piecemeal review of all receipts and income for 2004. The next step is an appeal. I wrote the appeal request. Done. How's this for irony? The IRS agent admitted to me at the end of our last meeting, that if she were me, she would do exactly what I am doing (i.e., challenging the IRS, reviewing the tax return and receipts, making an appeal). So folks, take note. If you are an independent contractor, and you get audited, fight it. Be appropriate, but stay firm, take one thing at a time, and push back.

2. The Savior, my canny, dear friend as substitute-brother, convinced me to take the New York real estate sales agent licensing course and exam. I've been freelance writing, etc. for him since July, so... I did it, via the NYREI. I could write sitcom episodes out of those classes. Still, I took it dead-serious, studied well and diligently, passed the course, passed the state exam, and am going to work for one of the big-ass agencies, out of its Bridgehampton office. If a former Ralph Lauren supermodel from the late-197Os and 1980s works here, then I suppose I can do it too. Seems as though there are a few Mets fans in the house. That bodes well.

3. I got me a wee place in East Hampton. We're calling it the Ho-Ho House. Up in the Northwest (as it is known on the South Fork), and a stroll away from Sammy's Beach (glorious in the mornings - the Great Peconic Bay smacks of Winslow Homer), I am renting it from a British gal (mentioned here earlier), whose surname begins exactly as mine does: "Ho..." Ergo. Photos to come.

4. It's the last season of The Sopranos. I watch. I love. I am devastated.

5. I also watch Entourage. And The Tudors. These two are not as brilliant as they were (the former), or ought to be (the latter).

6. I made the mistake of watching an episode of one of the early try-out round episodes of American Idol. Let me say this right here. I have never watched that show before. Ever. I watched that one episode, and pow! That crap is crack. I am hooked. Strange, a core of my sharpest friends are long-time hooked. Go and roam here and here, by way of excellent NYC fan-based examples.

7. I started reading that Russian novel in translation, whose main character is a Sister Pelagia, and it didn't grab me. However, I read the first paragraph of Alice McDermott's Child of My Heart, and I stopped, until I realized I was holding my breath. I chose it because it is set out here, in East Hampton, and I was gratified to remind myself that Ms. McDermott won the National Book Award for her novel, Charming Billy. I dove into Child. I could not stop reading it. It made my chest hurt. I'm telling everyone to read it. I ordered a copy from Amazon and had it sent to my mother, for Mother's Day.

8. I had jury duty last week. I've been called five or six times in my life, been empaneled three times (I think), served one time, was sequestered that one time, and we sound up hung. This time I was empaneled, questioned, not selected, and then dismissed. Sprung. Clear for the next six years.

9. I had a date, egad. Maybe a sort-of date. An older gentleman. Whaddaya know, I am so not ready. I just, I just...didn't feel it. I am convinced I am still drawn to men some nine-ish years younger. This fellow is witty, intelligent, and has great stories. But I guess I still gotta go younger. The weather is only starting to move toward summer. Only starting. Patience.

10. I am re-reading Pride and Prejudice (apologies again to Sister Pelagia). It's still so fresh. Here in the country, where land and property are all, Jane Austen's novel manages to resonate - some two hundred years later.

Good grief. This has to be enough for now. I'm pooped. I want to take pictures and post them. I have not abandoned this space. I'll be back sooner.

The Real Mikhail

The whirlwind. The bull in a china shop. The non-stop chatter, the question after question, the endless phone calls. The almost impenetrable accent. The incessant need for instant gratification. The clothes, the books and papers, the light-speed topic-by-topic change, delivered breathlessly in the ceaseless, life-and-death sounding monologue.

He sucks the air out of any room, all six feet-plus of my dear friend, whom I call "The Mad White Russian," one among the litany of phrases and names I use to describe him.

Also: The generosity, the bottles of champagne, that big ole romantic heart, the sensuous love of art and antiquity, the sweetness, the intellect, the passion and curiosity, the friendship we've shared over the years.

I adore him in segments, or intervals: The various visits we have shared together, from New York, to San Francisco. to Paris. More time than that, and I would explode - or pass out.

I expect that after the last three days, a visit to Moscow will feature at some point in my future. And Surfer Girl's too. You see, he brought a friend, and I am not kidding, the fellow is a sausage magnate. Writing those two words, even if they describe one of his actual businesses, makes me chuckle. He also owns Muscovite restaurants and a bookstore chain (!). All that and he seems to be a genuinely good guy. Yes, I sensed a little energy between Surfer Girl and him, sausages notwithstanding.

The Russians have threatened to return to the city - for a more substantial stay. Right on, I say. And maybe we'll all be together for a week in the East End this summer. We'll see how and what may unfold.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four is posted on Plot Participant.

I know one person will make it bedtime reading.

Cheers.

Chapter Three

Just a quickie. Chapter Three is up on Plot Participant. Link, then scroll down.

I convert the files from the Courier typeface and mega-formatting from the file my agent created. In doing so, I take pains to edit, recast, and rewrite. Then I cut and paste the chapter(s) into this space, however, I have to "customize the display of this page," else the file does not show up as a post, in any acceptable fashion. In my opinion.

One of the downsides to this process is that spell-check is either disabled or unavailable. I do check everything at least twice before I cut, paste, and post. Still, please forgive any missed typos.

I'll dash something off about the midwinter celebrations soonest. The group meals, one planned, another impromptu, right here in my building. Good neighbors, mine.

The quick trip up to Connecticut, for a dinner and stay-over, at that lovely house on the Sound.

A gathering of longtime friends at Half King yesterday.

And a lot of self-reflection. Ah yes, more of that.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two is up on Plot Participant.

I had to use "plain text" to work the draft onto the post, and since spell-check is not an option in that mode, I hope I caught all typos. I alternate between doubting that it's any good and thinking it's not half bad.

Reading Richard Ford's Independence Day right now may not be helping my confidence.

As Lyle Lovett wrote, "...what would you be if you didn't even try..."