Disco Inferno*
Lately I’ve had such a hard time coming up with things to write every week for you guys. I blame my muse for abandoning ship, but we’re not here to cast stones. At least not today.
So I sat down at McLovin (my beloved laptop, for those of you new to my universe) to write a post for this week, and I decided I’d use the power at my fingertips to figure this out. So I googled “blog topic ideas.”
I know—I have moments of brilliance.
One of the top links on the search list was to a blog by Chris Brogan (a web luminary and general marketing super genius). His post is aptly called “100 Blog Topics I Hope You Write.”
Score!
You will NEVER find me writing about some of the topics Chris had listed, like…
How I Use Facebook (as rarely as possible)
My Children Will Do It Differently (I’d have to have children first, and that’s not happening—sorry, Mom)
The Difference Between Farks and Truemors (snicker)
Explaining Social Media to Your Chamber of Commerce (shudder)
How I Went From Very Shy to Less Shy (snicker again)
But several of his ideas appealed to me. My faves, in no particular order:
Ways to Save a Bad Time at a Conference (I’m TOTALLY doing this next year before RWA National)
How I Find Blogging Ideas (snort)
Books I Want to Write (wherein I explore my great desire to write about a rock band)
Ten Guilty Pleasures (sneak peak: donuts are at the top of the list)
When I Feel Frustrated (the art of breaking dishes)
Giving It Away (not a commentary on my dating life)
If you have a blog, how do you decide what to write about? Do you plan out your posts for the future? If you don’t have a blog, what sort of posts do you enjoy reading most? What would you like to see here?
Actually, writing this has been helpful. At the moment, my brain is teeming with stuff to write about. Mini donuts, for example. And fonts. The spirit of the blog has me so empowered I may just schedule out the topics for my next few blogs and see how that works for me. I know—I’m talking crazy now.
Thank you for participating in this brainstorming session. We appreciate your patronage. Please come again.
* In case you didn't notice, this blog post doesn't have anything to do with dancing or raging fires. I got bored with my original title, Another Blog Post, and decided I could be more creative. So I looked up and on the wall there was a flyer for a firefighters' 70s disco party (a benefit for the SFFD). It inspired me. Firefighters are good for that.
Hakuna Matata!
I just felt like exclaiming that. This post doesn't have anything to do with The Lion King, Africa, Elton John, or even Swahili. Although that's a language I've always wanted to learn.
Ahem.
Anyway, while my sister steals babysits MY SHOES in New York, I'm wandering around Madrid. I freakin' love it here. The people are awesome, the city is lovely, and the booze is plentiful. What more could you ask for?
That's right—pictures!
Did I mention how beautiful it is here? The city is peppered with plazas full of outdoor cafés and public gardens like this one (Jardines de Sabatini). I've spent part of every day sitting on a bench here, reading or writing or watching German tourists jump into the fountain.
Because we're all about books on this site, I thought I'd include this picture of a charming old bookstore I stumbled across. (Although your store is obviously superior, Bradley. And less dusty.)
Meet Oscar, el bombero (the fireman). We met in a park—he was running and I was contemplating the clouds. He sat with me, and we chatted for the next half hour. He was a bright light in my day, with his smile and lightness of being.
Aren't these purses awesome? I don't need one. I'm positive I don't need one. Nor do I need the pair of the rockin' wedge sandals I saw in the next store window.
The only thing wrong with Madrid...
The dearth of coffee houses. WTF? So far I've found two options: the smoky café down the street, which is awesome but (like I said) smoky; and Starbucks. In desperation, I went to the fancy Starbucks on Paseo del Prado yesterday. I sat on the terrace outside and was hit on by cologne-drenched Eastern European tourists who thought I was a Madrileña.
Don't forget!
Brenda Novak's diabetes auction is going on, and I'm being offered up like the proverbial lamb. You can either get a critique by me or, if you need a gentler option, have COCKTAILS WITH ME at the RWA National conference. Do it. It's for a good cause.
In a New York State of Mind
A lot happened last week. Unfortunately for you, I'm not ready to talk about a lot of it. Also unfortunately for you, I'm in the mood to do one of my awesome photojournalistic blogs.
My original topic was one so obscure some of you would have gone away, scratching your head and wondering if I'd finally gone off the deep end. But I'm going to save that for another day and instead tell you about some of my adventures in New York.
As most of you know, I'm visiting my sister Parisa. This is the two of us in her kitchen:
Parisa, of course, is the one on the left. She's fond of telling people she's the cute one. I just humor her.
Because I suddenly have more work than any sane person would agree to do, I've been hanging out in a lot of cafés. The café culture is different in New York than on the West Coast. People go to cafés to socialize, not work. I know—it's the strangest thing ever. A lot of cafés frown upon laptops even.
But there are a few choice ones that people use as their office-away-from-office. One of them is the B-Cup in the East Village:
One of my sister's friends saw Julia Stiles hanging out at the B-Cup. I haven't seen her yet. The cute Israeli boys who work here are especially friendly.
Speaking of working... My agent and I have had a number of meetings with industry folk. One of our meetings took place in a chocolatier. As we left, among the chocolate-covered Cheerios and Easter baskets, we spied Peeps dressed in chocolate tuxedos. When I (foolishly) let it slip that I'd never eaten a Peep, my agent decided that it had to be remedied. And documented...
My hands shook from the sugar for hours. I also realized that my agent has serious sales skills, if she can get me to eat fluffy marshmallow crap.
I was at the MOMA with a friend, looking at an exhibit of live naked people hanging on the wall (seriously) when suddenly he asked me if I'd ever had a true New York deli experience. I hadn't, and he felt compelled to fix that. So we ended up sharing a reuben at the Carnegie Deli, apparently the most famous deli in town:
Yeah, that disgusting looking pile of goop was the reuben, hence the reason we shared one. Actually, we shared less than half. I've been eating leftover pastrami for days now. I've never seen sandwiches the size of what they served there. It was obscene. Also obscene were the slices of cake. No, I didn't have one, but I may have to go back to try.
The next photo is of a friend, who came into the city to hang out one afternoon. However, you're going to have to imagine the picture because I forgot to take it. Duh. It's too bad, because we had a cupcake orgy in the park.
Stay tuned for another week, when I may or may not have pictures of the Hachette offices, the Doughnut Plant, tangoing, Culture Espresso Bar, and the firemen at the grocery store.