April 4, 2006


I had to cut my safari with Count Babalollapaloozo short to come back and wet-nurse Beth while she finishes writing the last third of the last FREAKING chapter of our new book, THE SCOUTMASTER’S WIFE. Here I thought I could leave town and not worry about her because she’s in the throes of the highest-of-high-suspense-thriller chapters–THE FINAL FREAKING CHAPTER, and everyone who is anyone knows I write all the funny stuff. I thought I had at least a week or two off.

But NOOOOOO. She called me last night JUST as the Count and I were sitting down for our evening Blue Hawaiians, beautiful, shimmering, icy turquoise cocktails prepared by his favorite chef, Enrico Carusovitch XIV (I think that means fourteenth), who had already begun to prepare broiled lobster tails with clarified butter and flourless chocolate cake for our dinner.

BUMMER! I only got peanuts on the plane on the way home and it was a red-eye flight on top of everything else. I’m telling you, life is a bitch sometimes. And most often here lately, its name is Beth.

She begged me–BEGGED me, I tell you!–to come home now, RIGHT now! because she was having a nervous breakdown or something stupid like that over our last chapter and she needed ME to stand behind her every second she’s at her FREAKING computer chopping away at what USED TO BE a good keyboard. She’s been at it so long and so hard you can barely read the letters and numbers now, which is a tremendous inconvenience to me because I, of course, look at the keys when I’m typing. A speed-typist I’m not.

So not ONLY do I have to stand behind her, she’s having fake ulcer attacks and I have to run and get these little blue pills for her every couple of hours or so, which she’s not fooling ME any, are probably something highly illegal, although she denies it. I would have said she denies it vociferously, except that ends in an ‘ly’ and she’d probably put me in reform school or have me shot at sunrise or something for THAT world-shaking no-no. Just ask her ever-patient crit partners, those poor little things, who want to kill her every time she opens her mouth about words which end with ‘ly’, which she does every chance she gets. How obnoxious is that!

Anyhow. I’m here, good-hearted, faithful little soul that I am, standing by Beth while she slowly evaporates into a puddle of molten angst directly underneath her computer chair. Be warned, if this book somehow winds up funny at the end, you’ll know what happened.

And THEN, she tells me, the really HARD part begins. Finding an agent.

I can hardly wait.

Ta Ta for now, my pets. Whatever else happens, we are, one way or the other, about to FINALLY finish this FREAKING book.

Love, Hotclue, who doesn’t ask for much, just a million-dollar yacht anchored off the coast of France, staffed with hot-and-cold-running Elloras Cave guys, plenty of champagne, and (list to be continued later, Beth’s calling me AGAIN…)

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  1. Poor Hots. I sympathize with you. As one of the CP’s I know exactLY what you’re talking about. AbsoluteLY. She is a bitch whed it comes to those charmING, wonderfuLLy descriptive words.

    But to pull you off your trip when you’ve worked so lovingLY by her side is not onLY unwomanLY but it’s so unjustLY wrong.

    You have all my sympathy, Hots. I think you should crack open a bottle of dom and pull up a comfortabLY cozy chair and suck that baby dry. Then whack Beth over the head with the empty bottle!

  2. Oh, my thoughts exactLY, Sloane. She’s making me INSANE. You guys think she’s making YOU crazy, just imagine trying to LIVE with her right now!

    The worst part is, the airline would NOT let me bring my extra-large brandy snifter full of Blue Hawaiians along on my trip back to the USA to rescue her, the clods, even though I pled with them that it was the direst of literary emergencies. Sigh…

    Big Hugs,

  3. Oh well, I lovingly understand your naturally upset nature with Beth. HOWEVER, I truly love her critiquing me. It makes me feel lovely, hopefully, optomistically womanly. Take to take my medicine, ladies. Or else the nurses in the white coats will be coming to strap me down.

  4. The nurses in the white coats have to stop by for me first. And yes, Beth does try to help. 😉 She hopes she’ll be able to, I’m sure of that.
    Hugs, Hotclue







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