November 18-21, 2010:

A few days of re-memories as I was in New York and went to the Cloisters and did a walk-about in Central Park where I used to play as a child with an old (and now new) friend Marcel, from elementary school days. I also saw my agent for a wonderful lunch–we laughed, we remembered my old agent (her old boss) and reminisced and spoke about new projects. Old and new. Continuity. Sort of like the arc of a book. My book. My life.

Also went to the Frick Museum to look at the pictures of Sir Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell, glaring at one another from opposite sides of a hearth, because I am reading Wolf Hall–the Booker prize winner, an amazing historical novel whose main character is Cromwell. And my friend, Marcel, had read the book, too. So we were talking about art and history and the clash of personalities and religion much of the day.

The train to New York was held up before we passengers in Springfield ever got on because the train ahead of ours had run over someone on the track outside of Hartford, so five of us jumped into a car and got down to New Haven in time to make our connection. Still I got a bit of writing done, including a poem about the train track death. On the way back I revised a chapter of Thirteenth Fey, bringing me to almost 24,000 words, and did a bit on the Ghoul School proposal as well. I also saw my Random House editor, and ate at a lot of new places. Stayed at my cousin Pam’s apartment. So I thank Pam and her handsome husband Billy for putting up with me as well as putting me up.

A lovely time with lovely people and writing got done as well. What’s not to like? (Maybe the four rejections of picture books by one editor, but even that didn’t phase me as it had been a long shot anyway.) Got home Saturday evening, hauled my suitcase up the stairs, and literally fell into bed.

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