paean to this fine month

This has been the loveliest, gentlest November I can remember. As my daughter said today, in her usual direct way, "We didn't have a friggin' summer but at least we had a nice fall." Today, sunny sky and clouds of yellow leaves underfoot as I went for my usual Sunday jogette. (I can't call it a run or even a jog, I stop so often to look at things or saunter or meander or lollygag ... ) There was a bicycle race on Riverdale Hill, people in tight black suits on snazzy bikes charging frantically up, down and around - didn't look like fun to me but then I'm just a jogetter.

I have been digesting W'son's words and figuring out what happened to lead me so far off track. One of the things that happened is that I actually tried to write something that would sell. Ha ha, what foolishness! I thought my reminiscences about the Beatles and my love for Paul McCartney were fresh and original and fun and would be of interest to people my generation and even those younger, who'd want to find out what that time was like.

Rule # 6,742: don't quit your day job, and do not write to sell. Write what you must write truthfully and with depth and hope it finds readers, but if it doesn't, at least you've listened to your heart. My friend Chris disagrees completely; he only writes to sell and can't understand why you'd do otherwise. W'son on the other hand says there are two kinds of work: the stuff we write consciously for money, for magazines, say, and the stuff we write for depth and truth. These are often two separate things. I tried to combine them. Mistake. According to him, that left me with a bunch of flighty stuff that doesn't mean anything.

I think I am allergic to making money. Is there a cure for this, some sort of medicine I can take?

In the meantime, I still have not rented my two spaces, so now must sell my Balenciaga ballgown. It is a thing of exquisite beauty with the Balenciaga tag inside, full length heavy maroon silk with a giant bow at the back. I bought it at Goodwill many years ago for $18 and have been saving it for the Oscars, because one day, Steven Spielberg was going to option my book and make it into a movie. Well, even if by some unbelievable miracle that happened, it would still take many years until Steve and I got to the Oscars. In the meantime, where am I going to wear a full length heavy maroon silk ballgown with a giant bow? Some rich lady needs it.

Or maybe you do. Please let me know. I'll be consistent and make sure to sell it for much less than it's worth.