Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 619

My first date/arranged marriage

On Tuesday I had the pleasure of meeting my new editor for the first time.

About a week ago I accepted an offer from Saint Martin's Press to publish my next two books, including MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND.  I was on my way to Vermont for a book retreat when we stopped off at the in-laws house in the Berkshires to drop of the munchkin for the weekend.  After depositing diapers and baby dolls, I called my agent and learned that the final offers had been made on my manuscript and it was time to make a decision.

Since the terms of the offers very similar, the decision came down to choosing the editor, and after much debate, I chose Brenda Copeland at Saint Martin's Press, mostly because we had spoken during the previous week about the book, the publishing house, and my career, and I had liked what I heard.

Still, it was a difficult decision, and my agent was uncharacteristically unhelpful during the process.  Both editors are highly respected in the publishing industry and both work for prestigious publishing firms, so Taryn felt good about whichever offer I chose and was therefore less decisive and less certain than usual. 

Essentially, she left the decision to me. 

Though I felt good about my decision to go with Brenda as we left for Vermont, I worried that I would always doubt my choice (as I'm wont to do) and be forever consumed by what-if questions for the rest of my career.

Those doubts were quickly put to bed on Tuesday. 

Meeting your editor for the first time is like going on a blind date.  You know the basic facts about one another but have no idea if there will be any chemistry between the two of you. 

It is a nerve-wracking process. 

This was going to be the person most responsible for shepherding my next two books (and hopefully many, many more) from their humble beginnings to bookshelf glory, and in many ways, she would responsible for dictating the course of my career. 

Also, there would be no polite parting of the ways if our first date went bad.  No throwing away of phone numbers and forgetting the date ever happened.  We would be stuck together regardless of the success of this first date.  It's sort of like first-date-meets-arranged-marriage, except I did all of the arranging, so if things did not go well, I only had myself to blame. 

Happily, there was no need for blame.

The nearly three hours that I spent with Brenda were divine.  Though we hit it off almost immediately, I actually think she and Elysha hit it off even more, often speaking a language of home décor and food that I could not understand.  I'm happy to report that I found myself in the presence of someone who is experienced, energetic, creative, forward-thinking, and interested in investing in my career of the author as well as the books that  I will write.

In short, she is terrific.  I know we are going to do great things together.     

I couldn't be more pleased. 

And after breakfast, Elysha and I had the pleasure of visiting the Saint Martin's offices in the famous Flatiron Building, and the day only got better. 

We had the opportunity to meet key members of the Saint Martin's team, all of whom were kind enough to take a few moments out of their busy day to say hello and get to know me.  And it truly feels like a team at Saint Martin's Press: one large organization pulling on the same rope.

I immediately felt at home.   

And the day ended in what must be one of the finest offices in all of Manhattan, located at the tip of the Flatiron Building on the fourteenth floor.  Wall-to-wall windows look straight up Fifth Avenue to the Park and including stunning views of the Chrysler Building, The Empire State Building and more.

And so my career at Saint Martin's Press begins.

I already find myself wanting to do them proud.

Directions damaging my ego

After spending the night on my sister-in-law's air mattress, I thought I'd be a nice guy and deflate the thing.

After battling with the air pump to no avail,  I moved to the large, quick release valve and read the following directions:

How do you think I felt after not being able to push the tab in the direction indicated by the arrow on the valve with both hands?

What kind of company includes a sentence like, "This can easily be done with one hand"?

They had to know that this would eventually hurt someone's feelings.

Is the absence of women writers in late night comedy a result of sexism or simply female preference?

Jennifer Weiner recently called for the hosts of the various late night programs to address the absence of female writers on their staff.  And while I am in favor of increasing opportunities for female writers, I have to wonder if their absence in late night comedy is the result of overt sexism or simply a lack of female interest in that specific brand of comedy.

If I were to enter any comedy club in America this evening, it is likely that I would be entertained by a majority of male comics, and in many cases, their lineup would be exclusively male.  Female comics are simply few and far between. 

Is this the result of sexism at the night club level as well? 

Perhaps.  I'm not sure.

Or how about this:

Name the five greatest comedians of all time. 

Did you include a female in the list? 

While I admire the work of comics like Paula Poundstone and Sarah Silverman a great deal, I would not include them in my pantheon of funniest comics ever.  And I think the majority of Americans would agree. 

Is this the result of sexism throughout the entertainment industry?

Perhaps.  But I am not sure. 

And then consider the hosts of late night comedy.  All men with the exception of Chelsea Handler, who I also think is funny (at least in her books).  Again, this might be the result of sexism throughout the industry, but is it also possible that women are simply less interested in pursuing late night comedy as a career?

Maybe. 

And could this lack of interest in late night comedy be the result of overt sexism throughout the industry, eliminating the necessary role models that girls and young women might require?

Possibly. 

Or perhaps women just don't like the kind of comedy that late night television requires as much as men.

After all, there are many occupations that are dominated by women: 

Elementary and middle school teachers.  Pediatricians.  Nurses.  Office managers.  Daytime talk show hosts.  Hair stylists.  Nearly every corner of the publishing world.     

Are these fields dominated by women as a result of sexism or simply because of preference? 

I'm not sure. 

And while I realize that I do not know any of these late night hosts personally, I have a difficult time imagining men like Bill Maher, Jon Stewart or Conan O'Brien purposefully keeping women out of the writing room.  Perhaps all three of sexist jerks who have managed to project the image of forward-thinking, reasonable men, but my gut tells me that they are three decent guys who would be more than willing to hire more female writers if qualified candidates were available.  

Do we need more female writers in late night comedy?  Yes,

Would late night comedy benefit by an increase in female writers?  Yes.

But are there enough highly qualified female writers interested in late night comedy.

I am not sure.  But I suspect that this is at least part of the problem.

I dont care about stuff.

I am a person who desires little and places little value on material possessions.

I purposefully avoid all designer labels with the exception of shoes (I have yet to find a decent pair of off-brand shoes).

I drive a nine-year old Subaru and am perfectly content to drive it into the ground.

My wedding band is made of stainless steel and cost less than $100.

Most of our furniture was given to us second-hand by friends.

My question:  Why is this so?

How did I manage to avoid the trappings of materialism when others do not?  Why do I have no desire for a luxury automobile, expensive jewelry and designer labels?

While it is hard for me to frame this question without sounding critical of those more invested in material possessions than me, this is not meant to cast judgment upon them.  I simply want to know why one person derives pleasure in a diamond-encrusted watch and another does not, much the same way I wonder how one person can find broccoli so tasty while another roots for its extinction. 

My wife, for example, often purchases clothing for our daughter from a local consignment shop.  The clothing is clean, cute, inexpensive and often new.  But I know smart, successful, respected people who would never deign to enter a consignment shop, even if many of the items that my wife purchases have never been worn. 

What causes this difference in people?

Is it the result of growing up poor and having little by way of material possessions as a child?

Could it be a character trait inherited at birth?

Was it a value instilled in me at an early age?

Is it related to my tendency to avoid conformity?

Does it have something to do with a person's degree of self-confidence or their perceived importance of image as it relates to the rest of the world?

I want to know how this specific difference develops. 

Naturally, I tend to favor the person less invested in materialistic needs, and I find that my closest friends tend to be people who have no interest in materialism.  They drive second-hand cars, play golf with decade-old clubs and are never the early adopters of technologies like the iPads.

But I also have perfectly intelligent, successful friends who I adore whose lives seem to be dominated with concerns over the cars they drive, the diamonds they wear, the label on their handbags and the generation of phones they carry.

How does this happen?

The definition of self-indulgence

I am always in favor of having a party, but this is quite possibly the stupidest celebration that I have ever seen.

Ask your doctor to place the results of your latest ultrasound in an envelope, pass that envelope onto your local bakery, and ask the baker to bake you a cake that matches the ultrasound results:

Pink for a girl and blue for a boy.

Then cover the cake with frosting.   

A couple days later, invite your friends and family over to reveal the sex of your baby in grand fashion (not gender because gender and sex are not the same thing).  With all eyes focused upon you (the whole point of this fiasco), the unveiling begins with the cutting of the cake and the revealing of the cake's color. 

It's a boy!

It's a girl?

The parents are despicable!

Screaming, laughing and tears commence.  Hugs and kisses.  Expressions of disbelief and surprise.  And all the while you rejoice in your moment of exceptional self-indulgence with the people who used to love you the most before you involved them in this ridiculous spectacle.   

Apparently this type of party is more common than I thought.  My sister-in-law had already heard of these parties and even knows someone self-involved enough to have one.

I'll say it again.  Maybe there is something to this 2012 apocalypse stuff.  

I will admit that if I was self-centered enough to have one of these parties, I might call it a Gender Reveal Party as well. 

A Sex Reveal Party sends the wrong message. 

My ugly golf swing

My friend, Scott, is an excellent golfer.  He hits the links about three times a year, uses the same driver from ninth grade and is quite capable of shooting under 80 on any given day.

He's also an outstanding golf instructor, and in the few times that I have played with him, he has taught me a great deal.  His words of advice often echo in my head when I am choosing a club and deciding whether or not to lay up. 

He is honest, direct and succinct. 

Yesterday he was helping me with my swing.  Unable to achieve distance off the tee, I asked him to watch my swing and give me some advice.  After a few tee shots, he told me that he thought I was getting as much distance as I could hope for considering my exceptionally short swing.

"Short swing?"

"Yeah," he said.  "I know you had shoulder problems, and I thought that's why you don't come close to taking a full swing."

I had no idea what kind of swing I was taking, because I had never seen it before. 

So I asked him to film it. 

Watching my swing makes me never want to play golf again. 

Feminine hygiene products meet SOMETHING MISSING

Ever think that your feminine hygiene product could use a little more pizazz?

Kotex did, and that's why they are sponsoring a design contest that allows you to "Make your Mark on the Future of Feminine Protection."

I opted to design a pad, though I could have restyled "a period stash" or created an "inspiration board" as well. 

Unsure what either of these things are, I went with the pad. 

And while I was at it, I thought I'd throw in a little bit self promotion as well.

I think my publicist would be proud. 

Can you imagine if Kotex contest judge and "fashion visionary"  Patricia Field chose my pad design out of the millions she will surely receive?

Has there ever been a more captive audience?

Plastic beats paper

Last week, this section of my local grocery store displayed the bestselling fiction and nonfiction of the week. 

It has been replaced by a display of gift cards for places like Chili's and eBay and Red Lobster.

Perhaps there is something to this 2012 end-of-the-world stuff after all. 

Tough beyond measure

My sister is hardcore.

About five years ago, she was hit by a car while trying to run across the highway at night.  Thrown fifty feet through the air, the only thing that saved her life was the patch of grass that she landed on. 

Dozens of broken bones  and months in the hospital and in a hospital bed at home, she eventually stopped taking the Oxycontin prescribed by the doctors to manage her pain after watching a television show and seeing what Oxycontin addiction can do to a person.  Two days after quitting she began having the extreme withdrawal symptoms associated with the drug and was told by the doctors that you cannot stop taking Oxycontin cold turkey.  The withdrawal symptoms are some of the worst possible, including anxiety, nausea,insomnia, muscle pain, muscle weakness, fevers, and other flu like symptoms.  More extreme symptoms include clinical depression, anxiety disorder, psychosis and in rare cases, even suicidal ideation. 

Stepping down slowly, she was told, was the only way to quit. 

She decided to ignore the doctors and quit anyway.  After a month of hell, she was free from the drug and living happily with the pain.   

Five years later, her arm is still broken and requires surgery, but after multiple operations and a fear on pain medication, she opted to live with the busted arm and move on.

She now takes care of her two daughters and her grandson on her own. 

The girl works at least as much as me, and probably more.

But none of this is what makes her hardcore. 

Instead, it's this:

My sister celebrates nonaversaries:

The anniversaries that would have happened had you not been dumped.

That, my friends, is hardcore.

Wouldnt you rather watch me clip my toenails?

MSNBC will run twenty hours of royal wedding coverage on the day that what's-his-name and what's-her-name get married. 

My initial reaction was disgust at a news agency for turning itself into the royal wedding channel for a day, appealing to one of the basest groups of people in American society:

People who find another nation's figurehead royalty compelling.

They are right up there with people who think they can pick their noses while driving and not be seen and people who purchase sweatpants for their thirteen year old daughters with the word Juicy splashed across the butt.

But then I realized that this is not the fault of MSNBC.  It is the fault of every viewer who turns to MSNBC that day to watch the wall-to-wall coverage of the meaningless wedding of two strangers in a foreign land that has no bearing on their lives.    

I can't fault MSNBC for seeing an opportunity and making a buck.

If I believed that people would pay to watch me clip my toenails, I would launch a live stream right now and start collecting credit card numbers.

And that might just be more entertaining than this royal shindig.

It's boring enough watching my friends get married.  If people are willing to invest their precious time in watching strangers in another country tie the knot, I say bully for you, MSNBC. 

Shoot for the least common denominator and you are sure to hit a hell of a lot of people.