As close to a costume as I’m going to get.
In scary news, some folks are still trying to take the credit of Frankenstein away from Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley and give it to her husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley. This has been going on since 1818 and continues today…
For some reason, Literary Rejections on Display got me thinking about the worst rejection I’ve ever received. Most editors have been polite to me and I’ve never had my work overtly insulted. But one day, I received back a Self Addressed Stamped Envelope that I sent as part of a submission to an agent. Inside there was nothing but a ripped up piece of paper. Pulling it out, I realized it was part of the cover letter I had sent with my submission. The agent had torn a scrap off the bottom of my cover letter and written in blunt pencil: I understand, Joy. But no thanks.
I guess it was a kind of recycling?
Every now and again, a creative wave I was riding bottoms out and I end up stranded on a shore somewhere waiting for a new wave to come along. It seems to be how creativity works for me—I am filled up 80% of the time and 20% of the time I’m empty. The problem is, I need to be producing work 100% of the time because, uh, I need to pay my bills.
This is where the To Do List comes in handy. I make a list, do everything on it (even things like voting and finding a pencil to vote) and then I’m done for the day. This takes the stress out of being creatively empty. I’m not flailing around going, “What should I do next? I can’t think of anything interesting. Oh no, I will never write again!” I am busily doing the things my list tells me to while I’m waiting for something to inspire me. This is comforting.
One year ago today, Kyle and I bought a house. I was not sure I wanted to be a home owner. I wasn’t in love with this house, although I thought it was a good fit for us. To make matters worse, we decided to go on a cross-country vacation while in escrow. So we would be in the middle of, say, Texas, arguing with a mortgage broker on a cellphone. Finally on October 10, we closed the deal. We didn’t get the keys to the house until two days later.
In the last year, we have put in new floors, sheetrocked the living room, painted all the rooms, put in a tankless water heater, a dish washer, a garden, and countless other things. The house is far from being done. We still have to remodel both bathrooms, paint the outside, fix up the garage, landscape the front and backyards, and completely re-do the kitchen. However, the house has already appreciated because of our work, and that’s a good feeling. The more it changes, the more I start to love the place I live in.
Looking back, Kyle and I bought at the right time. Housing prices had dropped, but people were still putting homes on the market. If we had waited, we probably couldn’t have gotten a loan. Even a year later, I feel confident we got a good deal. There were several components to that:
a. We used one of the best real estate agents in Petaluma, Peg King, who earned every penny of her commission.
b. We picked a fixer-upper on a big lot in a good neighborhood, insuring that our house would appreciate over time.
c. We pitched two mortgage brokers against each other during escrow. I highly recommend doing this. By using two mortgage brokers, we had negotiating power that we never would have had otherwise. We were able to remove over $5,000 in fees, negotiated a lower interest rate, and we did not have to pay a point.
A year later, I’m glad we bought a house. I like feeling that my money is going to something valuable every time I pay my mortgage. Remodeling still isn’t fun for me, and I’m often frustrated because stores never seem to have what I want. (Oh the curse of a vivid imagination.) I keep telling myself that someday my house will be pretty and I won’t have to explain the 1970s wallpaper anymore.
The biggest thing I learned from buying a house is that banks are jerks. I was shocked at how skillfully we were fleeced by the banks with their tricky language and fees. I’m happy I married someone who is good at math because I had trouble keeping all the rates and “insurance” and fees straight.
Having gone through it, I can see how people ended up with bad mortgages. I’m not saying they aren’t responsible for their actions, but the banks are more responsible because they have set up a system that is deliberately obtuse and deceitful. Or as I wrote on here a year ago:
I don’t have one iota of sympathy that the banks are losing their shirts right now from foreclosures. They gave loans to people who couldn’t afford a house and therefore had no business getting a loan for one in the first place. The banks did this knowingly and what’s more, they told people lies about how they would be able to afford the loans in the future, or at the very least, refinance if things get tough. …
So now that this has all come to a natural end, and people have ruined their credit and lost their homes, the banks are complaining that they are losing money. Well you know what? You bet on a horse with a broken leg, banks, so don’t whine. Maybe if you weren’t so greedy and slimy, you wouldn’t forget basic tenets of finance, like that people should make enough money to afford the product that they are buying–otherwise, they will not be able to pay for it. You should be held accountable for your actions, not given money to bail you out, but because you are so big and powerful and affect everyone else, you’ll get your way in the end. So cheer up, there are new people to cheat all the time. Why, here comes Kyle and me right now! Maybe you can charge us a $300 printing fee. Go ahead. See if we’ll go for it.
Take that, banks!
Happy anniversary, house!
Oprah had a show on saving money yesterday. It had advice like, do not spend more money than you earn. If you lose your job, cut back on your bills. Buy food from the grocery store that is on sale. Do not spend $700 a month at the mall when you don’t have $700 extra a month.
I didn’t realize that people needed to be explained the basics of budgeting. Now that I realize the extent of the problem, I want to do my patriotic duty and help. So here it is, my fellow Americans.
The Joy Lanzendorfer Guide to Surviving the Money Crisis:
I hope that helps. Maybe I can go on Oprah now. Do you think?
Dear Marcia,
When I got to the conference, the organizers recognized me–California to Kentuckians is like saying you are from Morocco or something–and I realized how small the conference was. It made me self-conscious and I hid behind a column in the library for awhile. After I got over that, I sat through several talks. One was by Ginger Strand, who wrote this travel/memoir/history book on Niagara Falls. Her writing reminded me of my own, which was encouraging. I also listened to the winners of the prize the conference gives out. Most of it was pretty good, but for some reason, they had a slam poet there. She was a cross between Alix Olson, Annie the Orphan, and the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. Imagine, if you would, this monstrosity performing slam poetry to a boardroom full of polite Kentucky ladies. I hate slam poetry.
That night, Joyce Carol Oates gave the keynote speech. She is extremely well spoken, brilliant, funny, and seems to know everything about literature. She read a short story about this couple who buys an Emily Dickinson robot that has been imbued with Dickinson’s essence. It was strange and hilarious and oddly touching. The next day, I went to a Q&A with Oates. On top of all my other opinions of her, I also think she is adorable. When they were gushing over her, the way they do at these things, she got embarrassed and looked down at the table. Then the moderator complimented this shiny pink blouse she was wearing (circa 1989 or so) and there was this strange emotion on her face I couldn’t quite interpret. Later, someone asked her the question: How do you, Joyce Carol Oates, manage to produce so much? She said, “I really can’t answer that question. I mean, we all have the same 24 hours in a day.” Then she talked about how her work output is more visible because she publishes and how her mother worked so hard and no one noticed. “Actually, I’m wearing a blouse my mother made me,” Oates said, referring to the pink shiny blouse. “So I was really touched that you” –the commentator – “mentioned it.”
After that, I stuck around to hear this first-time novelist tell people that the way to publish a book is to make friends with people you can use to get ahead and to steal ideas. She even advocated lying on her taxes. I walked out of her talk. There are a lot of slimeballs in publishing.
~ Joy
Dear Marcia,
I am in the Houston airport. I have a two-hour layover here. I was a little nervous coming here because of Hurricane Ike–which, by the way, went through Louisville yesterday. By then it was just winds, but it tore up the trees in my mother-in-law’s apartment complex. It knocked one tree over by the roots:
and split one tree in half:
Because of this, the power went out. I was frustrated because I was trying to finish up my article and send it out, but the battery on my laptop kept dying. Finally, we went to Panera Bread and found a place to plug in my laptop so I could finish my work. It’s so hard to write on vacation.
Last night, we hung out with Jeremy and his girlfriend Rachelle. They took us to this seriously cool restaurant called Proof. It is attached to 21c, a hotel with an art gallery in it. They had an exhibit by Kara Walker, the artist who does stereotypical silhouettes of African American slaves. I have been wanting to see her work for a long time.
There was also this projector that dropped letters from the alphabet on you. Your shadow was projected on the wall and you could stop the letters as they dropped on you. It was one of the best things we saw on the trip. I was trying to figure out how I could get one for my house.
(Me with Kyle behind me. Jeremy and Rachelle are on the right.)
(Kyle and me)
(me)
I hope the airline can manage to fly us home without any hassle. I miss my cats. See you tomorrow.
~ Joy