Hi! I'm Having a Pity Party. Wanna Come?

I've been putting off blogging today because I don't want to tell you what I'm really thinking lest you find me lame beyond belief. But then I thought, "Hey, like they haven't figured that out already. The kids are alright".

It goes something like this:

A friend sent me a link to an article in the local paper about these two women, one in Seattle, one in Paris, who both have blogs (about food) and both just got book deals. I know my friend's intention was to show me what is possible, to be encouraging and all that but the net effect was flaming green-eyed jealousy and a whole lot of "pft"ing.

Now here's the thing: I didn't start my blog to get a frakking book deal and I'm perfectly happy with my 110 hits a day (on a good day) and the handful of faithful readers who comment. (Because I like the back and forth of the comments and, as has been noted before, sometimes the comments are better than the initial post. It's fun. And if I was getting thousands of hits a day, like those stupid book deal women, it might translate into more comments and then I wouldn't be able to answer them all and that would stink).

I pretty much have abandoned the "discovered in a soda shop" route to any sort of success. It's all about plugging away and risking and all that "up by your bootstraps" stuff. But still. Sheesh. Stupid book deal women. We hate them. (Even though I'm pretty sure I'll end up buying at least one of the books).

The Neighbor asked if I'd read the blogs and I muttered that I wasn't going to give them another hit, silly women with their stupid book deals, especially the one who lives in Paris which should be gift enough for a person for crying out loud. But today I did. And they are good blogs. I didn't read them, however, and say, "Oh. My. Lord. Well, that explains it. Of course they got a book deal and not only that we should all stop writing because they are saying with eloquence and beauty everything that ever needs be said". They were good blogs, I repeat. But on a good day mine is just as good. So bollocks.

And then there was other stuff: a friend who just got a superfantastic new job and I couldn't be happier for her for she truly is deserving but part of me was all, "Well, crap" and jealous. Because there is one iron in the fire that might be very nice but it's one of those deals where if someone special takes a job I'll have a job and if he doesn't than I won't. It's just a possibility. Which essentially leaves me in the same frakking place I've been since February of wanting a job but not wanting just any old job for the sake of having a job and trying to figure out what's next. I do not do well with uncertainty. Which is unfortunate, given that not much is certain. Ever.

I started my pity party last night with The Neighbor, giving her strict instructions that I was NOT looking to be encouraged or jollied out of my mood or given stirring speeches. I just wanted to vent. And she let me. But we got into the notion of success and how I would count that. In most areas of my life I'm perfectly content, yea verily. But when it comes to writing, I do have some nebulous goals. I don't write for the sake of art. It isn't enough to craft a particularly elegant sentence. At some point along the way, I want it to be read. I don't need to be on the New York Times best-seller list for 6 months. But published would be nice.

"You are published," she said.

"Yes, but one article in one literary journal isn't enough", said I. Because it's not. It was all very thrilling and affirming and all that but it's not like I said, "Excellent, that's one off the short list. Now all I have to do is learn to make chevre and I'll die happy".

But blah blah blah. We've already established that my musings about being a writer are utter twaddle. There's more:

1. I had a profound conversation last night with The Child which made it clear that she is at the point of considering Deep Things. She's thinking for herself, questioning for herself, making things her own. Which is lovely to see. And a little scary. We set her on a path, which is our job, but she'll be travelling it in her own way. She's growing up and that makes me feel shaky sometimes.

b. We're planning this boffo trip to Chicago in July and someone was going to come and now he can't. Which sux so much it isn't even funny. When The Child found out she wailed, "Well, then I'm not going either". Yes, she is, because we've already bought the tickets, it will be fun and she'll get to meet other people but still. I'd be bitter® about it but I don't own the rights.

3. My stupid frakking car stalled on me twice this morning so as soon as I got the kids to school - by the grace of God and all the archangels in charge of all things automotive - I had to take the piece of crap to my car guys. Again.

So grumbled, grumble, fuss, fuss, fuss.

I'm in a valley time and have been for a while. I'm so over it but as I don't see an incline in the near distance, I'm forced to look for whatever beauties the valley might afford. And there is, at least, some dappled light on the path:

• We had our first al fresco family meal last night - chicken with chutney crust, moist and delicious.
• There's plenty of wine in the house.
• I started watching "Battlestar Galactic" (the mini-series) again.
• I got an email from Dariush this morning. (Oh, btw, I'm jealous of him, too; but he's not stupid). It had nothing to do with any of this but managed to be encouraging and stir me to action on a little project I've cooked up.
• The car guys just called and the problem appears to just be some silly wire so it probably won't cost $412,000 to redeem my piece of crap vehicle. (2000 Ford Focus - worst car since the Edsel. Just saying).
• I had a nice chat with Payson.
• JP called and made me laugh, plus I think I've convinced him to come for my birthday in September.
• The weather is very beautiful and it's hard to be completely poo-headed about everything when the sun is shining.
  
  I think it was Julian of Norwich who said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well". I believe that. Even when I'm in a pissy mood.

Chicken with Chutney Crust

1 c. fresh breadcrumbs
¼ c. dill weed
½ t. dried basil
¼ t. salt

chutney (Major Grey's is yummy but any sort will do)

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

olive oil for drizzling

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Combine breadcrumbs with seasonings.

Pat dry chicken breasts. Spread both sides with chutney. Dredge in breadcrumb mixture and place on a rack in a baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil.

Bake for about 20 minutes, until chicken tests done.