Writing a book is hard.

I am hoping now that I have put that out into the ether, it will get a bit easier.

Books and love, redux

I was terribly amused yesterday to receive a press release from Penguin announcing their new endeavour to help the bookish find love in conjunction with Match.com, through a new Penguin-branded dating site. Setting aside the obvious problem that Penguin owes me a giant amount of money for giving them this brilliant idea, I am fascinated by the website for two reasons:

1. Is reading now such an odd pasttime that it has become a niche interest like having herpes or wanting a sugar daddy or a wide range of other things that are catered to by obscure dating websites?

2. Is the chap who is advertising himself as a 30-year-old keen reader of Jack Kerouac really mystified as to why he is single?

Incidentally, although I did have two brief romantic interludes which arose, indirectly, from my books-and-love blog post, both were unsuccessful for non-literary reasons. Boo.

I am not ashamed to admit that Hillary’s speech made me a little teary-eyed.

Well, not very ashamed.

Good morning, Baltimore!

(I had to say it.)

Operation Three Thousand Words a Day commences now.

I shall let you know how it goes.

A girl can dream

I have arrived in Baltimore. I would like to complain about the fact that the bus dropped me in a parking lot at the edge of the city. I would like to be critical of the fact that then I was made to schlep my luggage across a grassy verge, into a van. And I would like to express my displeasure that the man who was driving had no idea where he was going, and had to be directed by another passenger.

Yes, I would like to, but I don’t think I can, since I paid $20 for the ticket. Still, as I limped across the grassy verge, I couldn’t help but think: one day, I will attain new levels of fiscal solvency and be able to travel in style. By gum, one day, I swear it: I WILL BE ABLE TO AFFORD AMTRAK.

Health insurance...

…is one of the major reasons I don’t live in the USA. I was reminded of this tonight as I cabbed home from Amy’s: the little TV in the back of the cab was showing a story about the HPV vaccine. “It costs $1000”, the anchor said, in much the same tone one might use to inform viewers of the price of a car.

Good morning, New York

I am jetlagged, so I have watched out the window as the sun has risen since before six, gradually illuminated the brick of the building opposite and the fire escape. A fire escape! My imaginings of New York are largely formed from picture books I read about it when I was a kid - the constrast to my suburban surroundings fascinated me. And amongst other things I was fixated on the concept of a fire escape, which featured in at least one of my books as a place to sleep when it got too hot - as opposed to cranking up the air conditioning as we did upstate. So I was jealous - am still jealous - of anyone who has one.

Last night was dinner with my lovely and amazing friend Laura. I think she is certifiably my oldest friend - at least in terms of friends who I actually am still in touch with. We met in first grade and, as she described it, our friendship went ‘ding!’ - we were instantly inseparable, spending hours imagining and wishing that we were in the Little House on the Prairie. In the greatest tragedy of my young life, her family moved to Virginia two years later and, as eight-year-olds do, we lost touch. But thanks to the Magic of the Internet, I emailed her a couple of years ago and reunited when she was over in London for work - and, indeed, we still get on famously. I am so glad that she and I were such discerning selectors of friends when we were six.

OK. I think it is just about a reasonable hour for me to go in search of a bagel.