Day 54, self quarantine
I’ve never been so happy to see a Friday in my life. Work wise, I had a really miserable week...nothing earth shattering, just some stupid mistakes I made which “may” have slightly upset my boss, which in turn upset and embarrassed me because I’m such a delicate flower. 😎
Have I ever mentioned my boss is born the same day as Julie? In case you couldn’t tell, my higher power has a wicked sense of humor.
So now I’m doing that whole questioning my existence thing usually reserved for someone younger because during quarantine I’m remembering how much I love writing essays and fiction more than anything in the world and I wonder why the hell I’m not just doing it full time.
Oh yeah, because I tried it twice before, and, erm, that pesky money thing. It turned out worrying about paying the bills had a chilling effect on my creativity.
Though I came close to making it once. A Hollywood producer named Spielberg contacted me about my book, Three Days in New York City. He wanted to make it into a movie and and when he realized it was a trilogy, excitedly decided to pitch it as a series to HBO. In an epic disaster that could only happen to me...welp, you can read all about it here in a wonderful publication called, I kid you not, Drunk Monkeys.
But now money isn’t an issue. If I retire in August, I still get a monthly check for the rest of my life, regardless.
Hmmm.
Light bulb moment.
Back in 2000, before social media, I was part of an online writer’s group, Zoetrope Studios, founded by Francis Ford Coppola. Technically I’m still a member but I’ve been inactive because blech Facebook, Twitter and work. We were all fledgling writers, some of us more hell bent on a writing career than others...some certainly more talented than others...but we shared a mutual love of words.
While active, I wrote four books in five years and had short stories and essays published everywhere.
I could do some serious name dropping about some of my superstar Zoetrope friends. Many are internationally acclaimed. One is an author and ex-wife of Elon Musk —she once sent me a note “I love your writing, Robin Slick!” while she was still married to Elon and I had no fucking clue who Elon was.
So that’s pretty cool.
What also got me thinking about my Zoetrope years are all the bookshelf pics popping up on social media.
I have crammed bookshelves and books literally all over this house but I thought I’d post a pic of a shelf reserved for my favorite books written by my favorite friends.
Naturally, it’s my favorite shelf in the house.
Pretty much most of these books contain personal notes and autographs. I’m kinda blushing to say I also appear in many acknowledgements.
Though Nick Hornby friended me on Facebook after realizing I was Eric Slick’s mother.
Apparently he’s a fan.
Same thing for Luis Urrea though he’s a fan of both Julie and Eric.
I already told you about Neil Gaiman and me.
You really can’t go wrong with anyone on this shelf but I want to give special shoutouts to Ellen Meister and Susan Henderson, two wonderful, magical writers and friends of mine for almost twenty years.
I used to have an interesting life, huh.
Hey, maybe I will again.
Who the hell knows anything anymore?
Not me.
But I do know one thing. It’s Friday and that means pizza.
Hell, yeah.
Have fun, everyone.
