Introductions make me nervous. The pressure of introducing two—or, God forbid—more people causes some sort of mental misfire during which I blank on one or both people’s names. And don’t try to connect it to the wonders of aging; it’s been like this all my life. I forgot my high school boyfriend’s name when I introduced him to my father. One lousy syllable. Vic.
So while I should manage to remember my own name here, you shouldn’t count on much more.
There are really only five things you need to know about me:
- I was named after a Basset Hound. Not a particularly attractive one, either.
- My older sister told me that when I was very young and very foolish I attempted to climb my high chair, pulling it over on top of me, causing my eyeball to pop out. She also told me I was the first Canadian to ever have their eyeball successfully pushed back into place and if I didn’t believe her I should check the medical journals. When I was in university, I checked. My sister lied.
- The little girl in Town House who pretends she’s a dog is based on me and I have the scarred knees to prove it.
- I have been in two bank robberies. Both times as an innocent bystander, not a robber.
- know all the words to “Snoopy vs. The Red Baron.”
Out of pure determination, I wrote the first draft of Town House in three and a half weeks. My first novel had been rejected all around New York and I had this little idea percolating about a lonely man riddled with agoraphobia-inspired panic attacks, a girl who crawls through a hole in the wall, and a shambling mess of a once-glorious town house in Boston. After writing a detailed chapter outline, I sat down at my desk, printed out a sheet of paper that read, “This is the book,” taped it to the wall, and believed it like hell. I did nothing but write for 25 days. When we unexpectedly sold the film rights to Fox before the book sold, I woke at 3 a.m. to a full-blown panic attack of my very own. If I hadn’t been shaking so much, I’d have enjoyed the irony.
Enough about me. You did nothing to deserve a post like this. A grog reader needs variety. And after my Tuesday entries, perhaps a wee glass of scotch or a mild antidepressant.
I’d introduce tomorrow’s grogger, if only I could.
What a wonderful way to start the morning–with the perfect blog post and a laugh big enough to spew coffee. (The eyeball story. I alread love your sister.)
Would you believe I was named for a dog, too? My father’s childhood companion, who he never stopped mourning. Old Patry’s photo hung in our living room next to mine for years.
Hmmm…maybe THAT’S my problem…
Welcome to the blogosphere. You’ll never write another novel in 3 weeks again. You’ll be too busy checking your comments
and keeping up with your blog friends.
xo
Tish, you’re an inspiration to little sisters everywhere! 🙂 And I must hear more about the bank robberies!
Congratulations on Town House, I can’t wait to sit in a movie theater and watch it unfold.
Lol, Patry! Old Patry’s photo next to yours?! That’s hilarious. You’ll have to post her photo on your own blog, so we can see her.
You’re so right about the blogosphere. Much harder to be productive.
Whew ……….Glad your eye didn’t really fall out! Maybe that’s where your imagination comes from. Loved your blog.
Doreen
Congrats on the film rights! When Townhouse hits the big screen, I think a Debutante viewing is definitely in order … think we can get Fox to give us goody bags as well, like at the Oscars?
Perhaps it’s karma that we’re here together, as I was an evil older sister who torutured my sibling (ie, tying him to a tree blindfolded and covering him with slugs which he believed were leeches).
I hope to one day hear you sing Snoopy Vs. the Red Baron! And I’m with Mia, I want a goody bag!