First query sent for the memoir. It went to a small press publisher. I have a long list of agents to contact as well. This is the hard part, the self-promotion, although I'm pretty good at doing it for my artwork.

The memoir is done and being read for typos. The challenge now is to number the pages of an existing document on a Mac. It appears the only way is to copy the 28 chapters into a new blank book and number them in one chunk. But what about the Appendix section, which is about 60 pages? Do I include them with the text? Don't them get roman numerals? Decisions, decisions.

I'm back. Been working on a memoir. I was almost finished, then there were a couple major developments and I had to wait to see how they turned out. After that, I basically had to rewrite big chunks of the book. But now it's done. It has an open ending so anything that happens later can be added by an editor as a footnote. Being proofed for typos now. Typed up a synopsis this morning after writing it four times by hand. Query letter is rolling around in my head. Have a lead on a small publisher, should I contact them first or the agent who showed an interest back when I started the book two years ago?

I'm back. My iMac died and I've been using a borrowed PC that could not retrieve my old data but I just got a Macbook Air (I adore it) and through the magic of modern technology, voila, here I am. So what have I been doing the last year and a half? Painting mostly, but I've also started a memoir and am about 80 readable pages into it. Even had a nibble from an agent who only wants to see it when it's finished. So I'm hopeful and grateful and busy.

In the meantime, here's one of the paintings I've been doing. I had a small weeklong solo show in Provincetown this summer and have another scheduled for January 2019. I'll attach a link to my website, which is under my real name.

They're all birds. They're also all squares and little. I see them as guardians and messengers. 

This one is titled Lancelot.

www.maureenmccarron.com

Busy, busy, the novel’s done and I’m in the query letter process. Next on the agenda is creating an author’s bio which, given I’m unpublished, is proving to be a challenge. So far, the hardest part in all this has been taking care of myself. A couple weeks ago, my writing group fell apart because I objected to another member using the name of one of my characters. He refused to see it was a problem. I refused to let it go. This wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had come up but I’d never fought back. Baby steps, I took it as a sign to finally start pushing the novel. In the meantime, check out this response I got to a query I sent out last week. No deal as such but totally took the sting out of having a story rejected the day before.

“THIS, Ms. Donegal, is some of the most delightful stuff I have read in a very long time. 

(Thank you for sending it to me.)

I wish I could steal your attack for myself ('though don't worry, I'm incapable). 

The pace is somewhat frightening to me, but I'm a Jane Austen kinda reader and I think Damon Runyon is as close as I might get to your self-confident gait.

I'll be looking at it again, I'm sure, when I have more time and fewer worries (and so, who knows when that will be...)

Meanwhile, very interesting stuff. Pure entertainment.

(Who is your agent? Forgive me, I have not been following your career--and am too entangled in other thing to look into it right now-- who publishes it and is your work in print?  

I'd say your work is smart, delightful, clever and (I know I need a fourth, but can't quite put my finger on it).

Thank you again,

I am extremely pleased that you sent me this small piece of your very good work, about that I could not be more sincere,

richard mansfield, editor

EstuaryPublications”

So, Bowie. His loft is in the building where a friend of mine lived, although I never ran into him there. I did see him in Elephant Man, and because of his music and who he was, he’s probably part of my DNA now. But let’s talk about the living. I recently read Patti Smith’s M Train, which wasn’t as much fun as Just Kids, but realer. I’m not famous. There is no dearly departed husband, no children, no royalty checks. But her feelings about the past and her love of my favorite TV show detectives made perfect sense. My first in-the-flesh encounter with her was forty years ago, shortly after the release of Horses, which I listened to constantly. I was in a long-gone all-night diner off of Bleecker Street with the poet I lived with at the time and who I’d hesitate to call my lover. We were bickering over burgers because he’d flipped the insides of his watch so the gears whirled behind the glass instead of the face. It was around 2AM but we had no way of knowing. Suddenly, Patti rushed in and came to our table. She asked to see his watch instead of asking the time and he happily stuck out his wrist. Her confusion was obvious. She bent closer for a better look and glared at him before glancing at me to see who’d bother putting up with him, then bolted out of the door.

Thirty some odd years later, a young woman in very high heels fell as she ran by me while I headed west on Houston towards Sixth Avenue. She was more embarrassed than hurt, although her palms and knees were bleeding. I was helping her gather the things that had spilled out of her bag when Patti, who’d been drinking coffee on her stoop, came to help her too. The young woman didn’t recognize her. She only saw a strange old woman with straggly gray braids and recoiled at Patti’s gracious offer to use her house to clean up. I saw horror in the young woman’s eyes as she ran away. Patti smiled at me, another strange old lady as well as her neighbor. I miss crossing paths with celebrities in Soho, especially the ones who remembered my face from the hood. Surely Patti and Bowie knew each other. Two icons living a few blocks apart, the same age, both Capricorns. Perhaps they'd have tea and discuss their mutual friends Lou Reed and William Burroughs. Another stratosphere, the stars really do look very different, you know.

As is the Provincetown tradition, I’ve been working non-stop for the summer and only now finding the time to blog again. Not that I’ve got anything to show you yet, but I’m happy to announce I am now a founding member of Thorvald Road Writers and currently putting together our on-line presence.  We're a spin off from last winter’s workshop at the library except this group is writing novels.

So, no prompts, no poetry, just the difficult but very satisfying task of reading and revising and reading again in hopes of making it perfect. I’m still editing the same novel I was working on before but it’s getting better and better. One  member is self-publishing a book which is due out next week and has already begun working on the sequel. Another has started her first novel after writing short stories for years and it’s brilliant.

In fact, it was her idea we name the group after Thorvald, the son of Erik the Red and brother of Leif Erikson. He was the leader of a Viking expedition and spent some time in Provincetown around 1007AD when the keel of their boat was damaged and then repaired in our harbor. Local history tells of a stonewall discovered during the 1805 renovation of a house down the street from me that has Viking writing on it and is attributed to Thorvald. He is also said to be the first European to die in North America, perhaps by Native American hand, and thought to be buried near Boston.

We plan to do public readings together as a group and put out a collection of shorter pieces at some point in the future. But right now we’re just reading to each other and giving helpful feedback, the real work. Here’s a photo of mine that I’d like to use as our profile shot, stay tuned for further details!