Betsy Phillips's Blog, page 533

My Publicist Wants a Word With Me

I should be practicing reading through my story a few times so that I am comfortable. But instead I am starting eight million things and writing emails and wondering if one of my arm pits smells different than the other. For the record, I think so, slightly.

My publicist would kick my ass.

And I am my own publicist.

So, that's a drawback, because now I have half a mind to see if I can actually kick my own ass.

When you are your own publicist, remember, you have yourself as a client.

Ha. That's...

Fingers Crossed

Okay, so tomorrow morning I am going to a place I will not name for fear of jinxing it–let's call them SchmubleyouPLN–and recording one of my stories for them to play during the local time on SchmenPR on the Friday before Halloween.

I think we all remember how I got bumped from SchmenPR last year, so let's try extra hard to make sure nothing, nothing at all interesting happens the last week in October here in Nashville.

Mid-Shift

I am really enjoying this article over at Slate and the ensuing discussion at Jezebel. Partially it's because even Franzen is mulling this kind of stuff over and partially it's because I am feeling good about things changing. I mean, I think this is one of the publishing paradigm shifts–we won't have the same kinds of big event books, just like we don't have our same kinds of big event tv shows.

Though we still have big event tv shows, you know?

I don't know. I'm feeling strangely optimistic...

Who are These Bathroom Designers?

I have noticed over the past four days that many bathroom stalls are not actually designed for you to get into and out of without straddling the toilet. I have started measuring and the bathroom here at work, the space between the open door and the toilet is less than the span of my hand.

Now, I would like to say that this is some kind of new development, but I have just talked to the Butcher and he tells me that he thinks the turn light from Clarksville Pike to the field has always been...

Two Things Worth Your Time

1. Dogs and Daemons (this is, actually, one of the best explanations of daemons I think I've ever read. I'm also thinking about how I would honestly describe Mrs. Wigglebottom, and I'm sad to say, I think her three most obvious traits in order of obviousness are 1. she's game (she's up for anything you want to do, whenever it is you want to do it) 2. She thinks our guests are there to pay attention to her, exclusively, and that she doesn't have to listen if there are guests over. 3. She's...

Haslam Likes Campfield?

If Woods doesn't beat me to it, I'll have a post up over at Pith about this. But lord almighty, I am dying to know what parts of Campfield's agenda Haslam thinks are good ideas for Tennessee.

Just When You Think Things Can't Get Any Weirder, In Ascending Order

1. I am distracting this Danny person from getting things done. No, not with my glorious boob freckle. Anyway, I take back what I said about not being that talented of a writer; apparently I can ruin it for all mankind with one sentence! Bow down before my amazing power, gentlemen.

2. So, yes, Fisk is acting very strange, as we've talked about. But I don't see how that justifies the Attorney General trying to steal their art. O'Keefe gave it for free to Fisk to display in Nashville. Fisk has t...

Lucky

On our drive home, the Butcher said, "I feel like I've been very lucky. I'm always afraid I'm about at the end of it." I laughed and said I knew what he meant. I'm not the best writer, by any stretch. But I write regularly, and the practice shows. And I love it, which is part of it.

But I have also been very lucky, every step of the way, and had ridiculous and lovely opportunities and met ridiculous and lovely people.

One thing I keep thinking about, which is hard for me to talk about, so...

The Depressing Park Review

It's up. And the next post is a kick-ass feminist post by Tracy Moore.

Strange Things are Afoot on Clarksville Pike

I drive this particular stretch of Clarksville Pike twice a day every day on weekdays and at least once a day on weekends. It is the main street through my part of town. So, on Saturday, I was grabbing lunch at Sonic and I'm coming back up Clarksville Pike and I cross the Whites Creek Bridge and stop at the stop light, as I have done approximately eleven billion times before. To my right is South Hamilton. To my left is an overgrown field.

So, imagine my surprise when I notice a turn arrow...