March 16th, 2009

The Authors On the Move event held Saturday at the ballroom of the Hyatt Hotel was about the classiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of being involved. So often big fund raising book programs that ask the guests to dress up are disappointing. Dressing up for some writers means a T-shirt with a tuxedo jacket painted on the front of the garment, but not so with this event. Men were dressed in bow-ties and suits, women were dressed in spangling gowns. It was really something. I got a chance to wear the new western costume promising fashion designer Christian Goodwin made for me. The dress was beautiful, but I can’t imagine how women in frontier towns dressed like that everyday. I tripped on the dress going UP the stairs twice. The second time I fell I just rolled into the event. I looked like a hedgehog in silk taffeta. Lack of grace not withstanding I was glad to have been invited to participate. If nothing else it lifted me out of the nonstop misery that seems to be life these days. It’s not one thing – it’s a lot of little things that make me blue and hurt. Both my teenage nieces are pregnant and unmarried with no viable means of support. It seems like teenagers who have no right being in the baby-making business are spewing out toddlers faster than a candy conveyor belt operated by Lucy Ricardo on meth? Book sales have slowed because of the economy, family members are ill, and I can’t find the CD version of Breaking Dawn anywhere. And as always, there’s Rick. I recently tried to contact my brother Rick’s daughter in an effort to try and get beyond some of the hurt. I noticed that she had been visiting my website quite a bit and decided I’d reach out. Her name was posted on Facebook so I started there. The next day I noticed she removed herself from Facebook – almost as though she’s afraid. It’s disappointing. Who knows the lies she’s been told and believes. Lies so black they could suck the light from Las Vegas and still have enough black left over to provide a lifetime supply of turtlenecks to the Yale English department. And I know the people who have lied about my brother and my family hate to be called liars. So how about I just call them Fact Reconstructionists, Truth Managers, or Reality Stylist. Whatever they want?. The bottom line is I wanted to help ease the pain and make the bad get gone and I thought a little forgiveness all the way around would be the ticket. I guess there’s really no chance of that. I’ll just have to wait and be lifted out of this envelope of sadness with another event where I can wear my western garb and pretend my brother is okay.