I'm a month into my search for a new literary agent and I'm already bored and uninspired by it. Despite encouraging writers to send email queries on agency websites, email is obviously not the way to go if you want a response. (They warn that they might not respond if they aren't interested, but personally I've come to like getting those rejection letters back. At least its a break from credit card offers and Victoria's Secret catalogues!) It also seems to be a popular practice that agents won't necessarily respond even if you mail your query with an SASE. I hope some intern is at least steaming the stamps off to paste on the letters that don't come with SASEs, and are going back to the writers who probably never ever researched the politics of the query process but still managed to write the "right" kind of novel for publication.

I have had some encouraging nibbles--but it's still incredibly discouraging to get a request for sample chapters and then a rejection for the full manuscript. I think this is how writers eventually just give up and stick their heads into ovens.

I hate it when you're so exhausted all you want to do is sleep, yet you don't want to go to bed too early because what that actually means is you're going to work that much sooner. Ugh.

As I wait for agents to get back to me on Fabulous New Novel/Future Bestseller, I'm toying with the idea of doing a self-published version of the follow-up to Love Like That. My former agent wasn't too keen on it because we would have had to pitch it as a stand-alone tale and not a sequel--very difficult--not to mention that Dalton, as it turns out, has conservative (ahem, anti-liberal) political views and somehow I just don't see that "flaw" selling her as a character that most modern women could relate to. It does, however, seem a shame that her story continued and that nobody will ever read it. Surely those 10,000 women who read LLT--minus the ones who hated it--would like to know what happened to Dalton (spoiler alert!!) after she departed her life of sordid debauchery in LA and moved to D.C. to live as a respectable married woman?

I can't see there being any risk involved in this potential project. So hell, maybe I'll just do it. Beats sitting around wondering if anyone in NYC is actually reading my query letters or if they've just placed them in a stack with thousands of others awaiting a form rejection when time permits. And the way I see it, it costs a few hundred bucks to self-publish a book and the writer gets a decent percentage of each sale, so I could conceivably make that back. Especially if I ever get around to starting a promotional website. Now if only "Amanda Hill, Attorney at Law" would retire her snazzy homepage so I can claim my domain...

Now I really must be getting to bed. Night night!

The meaning of possessions

I once worked with a guy who'd spent the majority of his adult life moving from place to place, most of these locations extremely international when compared to the everyday sanctuary of Los Angeles. During one of our conversations about books he mentioned that Graham Greene's The Quiet American was among his favorites. I asked if I could borrow it and he said no. Why, because it was one of his most prized possessions and he said that once you start moving around a lot, you tend to forget about everything that has no meaning and instead become quite attached to everything that does. Never did end up reading The Quiet American, but:

I did happen to pick up this ashtray in a little sidewalk shop in Monte Carlo when I was 22, green and gold and in the shape of a turtle. I remember it being one of the first things I unwrapped when I moved into my first post-college apartment in my same-college town. Then, a most integral piece of decor in my first Hollywood apartment, back when it was acceptable to smoke in the residence, and then later an objet d'art in my second Hollywood apartment when we sophisticatedly moved onto the balcony for cigarettes. It drove with me from LA/California to DC/Virginia and then later from Virginia to Nevada when I moved to Las Vegas. And right after I moved into my apartment here, I dropped it on the patio and it broke. I remember thinking what a shame when this tiny ceramic sculpture had made it to so many places and so far, and so, placed its broken pieces on my kitchen counter in hopes that it might someday be glued back together.

Took about a year and a half to get around to buying the glue because I can be pretty lazy like that--but long story short, tonight I actually glued it back together. And isn't it strange how pleased I am about that?

Feels like an awakening, the rebirth of this artifact.

I love this turtle ashtray. Not for its purpose but because of what it represents. Me being 22 and traveling around Europe back when it didn't really occur to me that a month of vacation isn't a given but a privilege; me being 24/25/26 and living in Hollywood like everybody just does that; me being 28 and moving to Washington, D.C. just to "try something different," and me moving to Las Vegas for "the experience."

Funny thing about certain possessions. They really do mean something.

Why I only watch TV when I'm seriously fucking bored

I can admit to being slightly masochistic. I read blogs I hate to read, sleep late so I can dread having to go to the gym after work all day and lately, find myself watching a lot of TV that seriously makes me question American entertainment. The highlight of this last behavior has to be Jon & Kate + 8, my God, truly the most horrible program ever broadcast. The premise is this: married couple Jon & Kate decided to have kids, couldn't, turned to fertility treatment and then had twin daughters. Okay, great. Then Kate decided the twins needed a little brother or sister, and after another go at the fertility thing, she and her disturbingly browbeaten husband ended up having six babies all at once. Okay, fine, this same scenario makes news at least every few years--but never have I seen such gratuitous exploitation of it. Could be interesting, too--if Kate wasn't such a raving insane bitch and her husband wasn't such a complete pussy. Each episode is 30 minutes of sheer torture as Kate relentlessly harangues Jon, makes fun of him, treats him like a big piece of useless shit, complains about his physique (how it's possible that Jon isn't a skeletal bag of bones when all he seems to do is act as the slave to nine other people), belittles him and he just sits there and takes it on national television.

It gets worse, though--because when Kate's not berating Jon, she's bemoaning her lot in life as the mother of eight small children and reminding the TV audience that she deserves more recognition than any other mother in the world. Oh, but wait--because with every complaint about her hardship comes the disclaimer that she really loves her children and thinks they are miracles and she couldn't have asked for a better life, blah, blah, blah. Just like with every barb at Jon she reminds the camera that they really have a great marriage and this is how they "work." Meanwhile, in the background, two of the snottiest little girls ever to exist mug for the crew and vie for their parents' attention while six extremely ill-behaved toddlers scream without reprieve. Oh, and let's not forget the clever ad placement displayed across all the kids' clothing ensembles.

For a double-dose of Jon & Kate + 8 hatred I visit the show's forums on the network website and read the posts from all the mothers who think Kate is a super fantastic role-model because she does it with eight kids when they are struggling with two or three. Each seems to forget that despite Jon & Kate's many references to their tight budget, nobody gets on TV without getting paid for it--and usually, quite well.

Jon & Kate + 8 should be portrayed as a harrowing cautionary tale and not the amazing story of love and survival that it is.

On the flip side, I also like to watch those regular specials featuring the Duggar family. Now they are super-creepy--two happier-than-happy parents and 17 kids who all appear to have stepped off the Juniper Creek compound on Big Love. Mom and Dad Duggar have vowed to have as many kids as the Lord wills them and spend their family time reading scripture and singing songs. The children are homeschooled and all the girls do the women's work while the boys learn mechanics and handle the man-tasks.

But the strangest thing about it is that the Duggars are actually sweet. Whenever the husband and wife talk about or to each other, it's always with admiration, love, gratitude and reverence. The kids are all very well-behaved and are rarely seen crying. They never argue with each other and seem really proud to be a part of this abnormally large clan. Michelle Duggar, the mom, is very calm and gentle and never makes an ass out of herself. The dad, Jim Bob, is totally easygoing. And the most amazing thing is that the family is debt-free. They say they only accept their TV appearances to help other people realize the life of Christ. Maybe, maybe not...but it comes across as very sincere.

I don't even know what my point is. I guess that you don't have to act like a total asshole just because you've got a lot of kids.