Who Has the Most Fabulous Inner Life?

First snow was Thursday – big wet flakes, they didn’t stick.

But we’re right on the edge of a major storm that’s moving up fast from the southeast. Today’s snow is likely to turn into two or three inches of ground cover.

Else?

Reading Another Life, Michael Korda’s extremely charming memoir of his days in the publishing industry. I do like Michael Korda.

Almost finished background research for the Disability Project – much more complicated than I’d originally thought because the Americans With Disabilities Act is a strange hybrid of structural requirements and civil rights legislation.

Plugging dispiritedly away at La Novel and not very well, I’m afraid.

Trying to springboard myself into finishing those two Stegner stories:

• What You Don’t Own Anymore is the poverty porn story about my unpleasant next door neighbors and begins with Our Heroine supergluing the teeth that are falling out of her mouth back into her mouth

• Arthur Bierman Is a Joke is the story about a 35 year old depressive who begins texting with a 16 year old, wisecracking teenager who transforms his life. Of course he doesn’t know he’s texting with a teenager; he thinks he’s texting with the teenager’s mother.

But the writing is definitely really awkward. I get into those phases sometimes. Clunky, clunky, clunky, every comma and inverted clause agonized over. Not predictable either – right, I’m really depressed just now. But sometimes when I’m depressed I write like an angel. So who knows what’s going on?

One of the revelations that I’m reeling under currently is that there are now seven billion minus one other people on the planet. We're all contestants in the Who-Has-the-Most-Fabulous-Inner-Life? sweepstakes so there's no fuckin' way I can win.