Do you read book reviews? The NYTBR, People, The Nation, The TLS, The New York Review, USA Today, The Atlantic, the New Yorker? Do you read your hometown paper, The New Haven Register, the Hartford Courant, the SF Chronicle, the WASHINGTON POST, etc. The blogs? THe Awl, The Millions, Slate, Paris Review, etc. WHERE Do you find out about books and WHO do you believe?

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Regret. It’s such a beautiful feeling. For small things, large things. Conversations you wish went another way. That jacket at Barneys. A young man who could have learned to love. Working all the fucking time. That haircut. Not helping other people enough. Not writing enough down.  Giving up on friendships, projects, the body electric. Did she say crumb cake? Not raising your hand once in college. The close call with Irwin Winkler. Oh, poor little lamb. I love licking my wounds.People who say regret is a wasted emotion are missing out.

Any regrets out there?

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I don’t dream. I have the same recurring nightmare 3-4 times a year. Someone is either chasing me or trying to break into the house. In the dream, I can’t call out for help, but I keep trying. It’s at that point when my husband wakes me up and tells me that I’ve been screaming. I feel this explains a lot about my world view.

Do you have a recurring dream?

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I met with a young writer last week one semester away from graduating college. The big question: try to get a job in publishing or take some temp jobs and try to keep writing. Obviously, I took the day job and it hasn’t been terrible. But I’ll always wonder. The worst part of working in publishing is not having the time to read War and Peace. The best part is working beside writers and making books.

What is your road not taken?

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Next door to my office is a hair dresser called Rapunzel. They change the message on a sign outside their door every day. Today, it read: NEVER, NEVER, NEVER GIVE UP ON YOUR HAIR. I had to face the truth: I had given up on my hair. I went inside. Long story short, I was weeping in the elevator on the way up. Nothing every fuckin’ changes with me. Two steps forward, throw myself down the stairs. Yes, friends, a blow dry took me down today.

What have you given up on?

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I turned in a writing project today. Finished the fucker. I’m feeling elated, depressed, anxious, irritable, happy, depleted, disoriented, and exhausted. My entire digestive system is aggrieved. And I have a feeling it won’t let up until I hear from the editor. Make way for ducklings!

How do you handle waiting?

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Gave a reading tonight in a small town in Massachusetts. When I pulled into the parking lot, there were three cars. Heart sank. Getting out of the car, I told myself that I’m a professional. Doesn’t matter if there are three or three hundred people; it’s a job. A Bridge Club of twelve women showed up. By 6:00 pm there were 30- 40 people. I was never so happy to see faces. After the reading, I went to the bathroom and discovered that my part had gone haywire and there was loop of hair that looked like the cyclone on the top of my head.

Embarrassing moments in the fields of publishing? Please share and make me feel better.

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Would you sleep with Louis C.K.? Do the words “syndication” mean anything to? When I got to graduate school, I was told that my writing was okay if I wanted to be the next Fran Leibovitz. IT was said as a put down, but I honestly took it as a compliment. I think being funny on the page is more difficult that anything else. Once, a reader of this humble blog said that he spit coffee on his monitor because of something I wrote. The reason I remember it is because it THE BEST compliment of my writing life.

Do you write funny?

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Spent the day in the library, piles of books, my yellow pad, left the friggin’ phone in the car. It was heaven. What I love so much about library books are the cards tucked into the envelope glued in the back with the dates stamped in: a trail of readers. This physical manifestation of a book being shared, of having its own history, traveling through different hands. In a biography of the Wright Brothers, someone wrote in the margin: yes.

Do you have a library memory?

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Dear Readers of this blog: This is one to stand up and cheer. Not only did our every own SSS challenge herself to a year of dares, write about them with great wit, she accomplished the most difficult undertaking of all: she got the fucker published. Join me in wishing her a big congratulations. Better yet, buy a copy of the fucker. Truth: We love you Sherry!

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