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January 14, 2006
A series of really, REALLY unfortunate events
From Beth, trapped in slow motion
I’m always on time for the little things in life: movies, doctor’s appointments, cocktails. Especially cocktails.
It’s those big, life-altering events that give me trouble. Like the first time I met my editor in New York.
I had it all planned out in my neurotic, Type A way: I would take an early train into Manhattan from New Jersey, which would give me at least an hour to grab a cab, get to Midtown, and locate the right office building. I was hoping there’d be a coffee shop nearby so I could kick back with a cup of hot chocolate and practice my Eager Young Author smile with the extra forty-five minutes I’d have, thanks to my mad crazy planning skills.
Oh, the hubris.
I woke up early, put on my Eager Young Author ensemble (think black. Lots of black), and headed out to my car, where everything started to go catastrophically wrong. First the key would not turn in the ignition. Then the ignition refused to relinquish the key. I sat there for five minutes, yanking on the key fob, smacking the dashboard and screaming an increasingly filthy string of epithets. Lani would have been proud.
Finally, I accepted the fact that my car had betrayed me in my hour of need and called my friend Sara, who broke all posted speed limits in her attempt to get me to the train station on time. But no dice. We watched the train pull away from the station and cursed some more. Okay, deep breath, no problem; I had built a cushion into my itinerary for this very reason. I hopped the next train half an hour later. Which ended up sitting on the tracks for upwards of thirty minutes due to a “track irregularity—we appreciate your patience.” And of course, I had forgotten to program my editor’s number into my cell, so there was no way I could tell her I was delayed.
Then there was the mile-long cab line at Penn Station. And the traffic jam on Sixth Avenue. And the heel that broke on my boot. I straggled into my editor’s office forty minutes late, panting, limping, and mopping the sweat off my forehead with my coat.
“Hi,” I gasped. “I’m Beth? Your new author? Listen, do you have any ice water I could guzzle, or maybe some crazy glue for my boots? I’ve had kind of a rough morning.”
“Of course,” she said. “Just let me run over to legal and see if we can’t cancel your contract first.”
No, just kidding—she was fantastic about the whole thing. We had a great lunch and after she loaded me down with free books (the very best perk of being an author) and sent me home, I discovered that my car problems were easily solved by jostling the gear shift stick, which had somehow gotten lodged between “drive” and “neutral.”
I am not even going to tell you about the last time I went to New York to see my agent. Suffice it to say it involves a nonexistent cross street, three cab rides through Central Park, and a LOT more sweat. Apparently, I was very naughty in a past life.
Oh, and this is totally off-topic, but I’m doing a signing and a book party in Phoenix this week (see my website for details) and I would love to see you there.
I promise to be on time.
This blog was brought to you by Beth's latest release, Fashionably Late, a story about love, family, fashion... and what a difference it can make if you're just willing to rip out a seam or two.
Posted by Beth at 1:33 AM | Comments (7)
Comments
Michelle's transport virus is spreading. Oh, wait. You didn't even know Michelle, then. Another conspiracy theory bites the dust.
Posted by: ZaZa at January 14, 2006 4:58 AM
Free books?
Posted by: Whitney ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at January 14, 2006 8:07 AM
Beth, I really feel for you! And ZaZa, I am thinking that it would be a good plan for Beth and I not to travel together, LOL. Imagine the chaos we could cause...
Posted by: Michelle at January 14, 2006 9:39 AM
LOL, your experience mirrors the nightmare I have when I sell and meet my editor/agent. I swear I'm the poster chick of Murphy's Law.
Posted by: Jan at January 14, 2006 11:24 AM
Oh, Beth, I feel your pain. It seems like the more carefully I plan it, the more likely everything is to go wrong. Because of that (car trouble, bad map and a sick toddler), I showed up once at a dinner party with a bunch of people I really wanted to impress twenty-five minutes late with baby spit-up in my hair. I got there just as the hostess triumphantly put out the main dish -- shrimp. I'm allergic to shrimp. I wanted to climb into a hole.
Posted by: Eileen at January 14, 2006 11:39 AM
Jan--
I hear ya. There is a reason our dog is named Murphy.
(He has lived up to his name, too. A week after we adopted him, we found out that--unbeknownst to us--he'd been walking around for God only knows how long with a broken hip. No limp, no whimpering. Just a little surprise for us at the vet's, who clearly thought we were criminally negligent not to have noticed. After major surgery, all kinds of freaky morphine meds, physical therapy (yes, they have physical therapy for dogs now), and thousands of dollars...he now visibly limps. But at least his hip is repaired. Sort of.)
Posted by: Beth at January 14, 2006 1:06 PM
Yikes, Beth! We had a similar thing happen with our dog, a Keeshound. Surgery for both knees, then therapy and medicine out the whazoo for ages. She got around pain-free after that (I hope, pain free!) but she favored one knee. And yes, very expensive, but I'd do it all over again. :)
Posted by: Jan at January 15, 2006 11:13 AM
