Maria Alexander News and Updates from TheHandlessPoet.com

Today, I signed a contract with Paula Balzer of the Paula Balzer Agency to represent my humorous nonfiction book G3, MR. WICKER and whatever else I write for the forseeable future. Paula just left Lazin Books, where she was an agent for a number of years. She's sold dozens of books, mostly nonfiction, but also dark fiction and thrillers. She's super smart, funny and a really great person who lives in the 21st century (a rarity for the publishing industry). She said all the exact same glowing things about my writing that the Curtis Brown agent said, but loves Mr. Wicker enough to get him out there. I hope it works out for us both!

Our first order of business was to put the G3 proposal into a format that was more standard: taking the "overview" that I wrote and turning it into chapter summaries, then writing a more general introduction with a little biographical info. She gave me sample proposals from two other books she's sold to use as guidelines. I hammered out something for her on Sunday as I was recovering from my poopy Saturday. We want to get that together ASAP so that she can send it out. She seems confident it'll sell and soon, and I share that optimism. The project is very commercial. I'm hoping it will help finance my wayward lifestyle in Aix.

She's going to re-read MR. WICKER and give me some notes on it. Primarily, she says it needs to be polished in places where the tone becomes dodgy. I'm not sure exactly what she's referring to, but I deeply suspect she's picking up on artifacts from the script-to-book adaptation. She loves the plot, characters, everything else. The bad news is that we might be working on this while I'm at Middlebury, which means I'll have to break the French Only pledge. This being my life's passion and all that, I'm not going to sweat it.

In more good news, The Frenchman signed the papers to sell his house last night. He kissed my head and said, "I have to keep my Minou in corsets while we're away." I'm not that high maintenance, am I? (Don't answer that.)

"...she had found peace in that house
where memories materialized thrugh
the strength of implacable evocation
and walked like human beings through
the cloistered rooms."

-- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
One Hundred Years of Solitude

I found this quote tacked to the wall by my computer. It's the only quote in Mr. Wicker, as I took this idea of memories materializing and made it Mr. Wicker's special magic from The Library of Lost Childhood Memories. As I've been boxing up 9-1/2 years of life in this apartment, a wild storm of these evocations whips around me. If I linger, my muscles tighten and my head fogs -- not from exhaustion but from the emotional assault. I came here on January 15, 1997. Less than one month later, my life was in complete ruin from a misfortune I won't describe. And as if that weren't enough, on April 11, 1996 -- the exact day of my Saturn Return, which happened in the House of Health and Work -- I was declared totally temporarily disabled from a work injury. That disability lasted for years.

The subsequent "extra-natural" activity in this apartment was unbelievable. Poltergeist-like incidents that used to only plague my ex-husband now took to frightening and unsettling me, as if I had turned on myself. Eventually, it died down, but not after it sent my one boyfriend howling when the cordless phone jumped off the receiver before his eyes. There were years and years of turmoil, occasionally soothed by the incredible friendships I developed, my writing and my sweet cats (who still hate you, by the way). Now, as I say goodbye to these "cloistered rooms" that are so imbued with me and the spirits raised here, I can't help but wonder if the walls are sighing with relief: "At last! That incredibly strange girl is leaving. Now we can have some quiet." Yet in some ways the walls protected me in every way I needed when I was so very vulnerable. There might be some affection there after all.

I never thought I'd find love, a whole day without hand pain, or success of any kind. But for now, the solitude is over.

I'm putting my life into boxes, one memory-book-trinket at a time. It feels like it'll never get done.The Frenchman is coming over later today to help. I feel like an idiot sometimes, staring at everything as I try to process what needs to happen. Out of the Closet is coming over today to take the couches, although I'm torn -- I cleaned up one of them and I'm thinking of keeping it. They both look pretty smashing now, actually, but the futon is a gonner fo' shuh.

I scored two discount luggage bags at LAX Luggage on Sepulveda. One a lovely olive green tapestry and the other plain black. The Marquise gave me two great fluorescent luggage tags: one says, "Not Your Bag!" and the other, "Don't make me chase you!"

If I'm lucky, I'll start packing clothes today, but I get the feeling I'm not so lucky today. I'm a bit hamstrung, in fact, until the Out of the Closet people come because I can't leave to get more boxes. I got some boxes from Staples last night, but they cost too much and were shaped strangely.

There are other, very exciting things going on in the publishing parts, but I can't talk about them quite yet until I'm sure about them. I think that's what helped me sleep last night so well for the first time in weeks.

The worst part is trying to strategize as I pack: what to leave out, what to pack loosely so that I can get it later, and what to send back to someone. I think all of the latter are just going into storage. If they haven't asked for it by now, they don't need it.

Damn. Coffee cup is empty. Must begin monotony afresh...

So much to say, so little time.

I'm marveling at my health. So grateful for it! The Frenchman makes me rest, lets me rest, never pushes me to do anything I don't want to do. This weekend we had one of our typical tradeoffs that make our relationship so wonderful. We had planned to spend some time with my oldest friends here in L.A. as a send-off, but decided to meet at Malediction Society instead of dinner. The Frenchman put on a poofy shirt, black eye liner and leather boots -- not exactly his usual garb -- and danced with me on the spooky dancefloor as we celebrated the coming year with the Marquise and the King of the Nachoheads. (They might be meeting up with us in Aix, or vice versa in Brittany.) The Marquise has exquisite taste in jewelry and owns a few pieces from Antiquarius, where the Frenchman bought my ring. She was absolutely knocked out by the tourmaline. She's never, ever liked anyone I've dated, but she's now ecstatic for me. The Frenchman twice said he was having fun, and I believed him. I know it's not his favorite music, but some of it he really liked. I was especially pleased to have gotten to see Xian, who runs the club, and to introduce her to The Frenchman.

Sunday we switched, and not just in BDSM: I donned a blue French soccer shirt and jeans with the Frenchman and went to the Staples Center where we had V.I.P. tickets and our own suite above the stadium to watch the France vs. Korea World Cup game. The French were outnumbered by the Koreans in the Staples Center 20,000 to 20. I got what I could only describe as a tribal, pre-war adrenaline rush looking down on the thousands of Koreans dressed in red, faces painted, heads tied with red bandanas, slamming together what looked like inflatable white baguettes as they chanted and yelled. When France scored the first goal (there were TWO goals, goddammit), the entire stadium quieted except for us, their baguettes drooping sadly. The 20 or so French people stood in their V.I.P. booths and cheered. After a moment, I turned to the Frenchman and said, "We'd better sit down. I think they're going to kill us." Of course, that wouldn't happen. The Korean people are incredibly sweet. But still.

Yes, the French were robbed of a goal. It was fucking ridiculous what happened. For some reason, they don't use instant replay to make calls. If the refs miss it, it's missed. That nonsense aside, I must say that, as someone who isn't a fan of sports at all, I can't get over how amazing soccer is to watch. It takes more skill, dexterity and grace than any American sport. Basketball comes very close, as well as hockey. But football? Baseball? We simply must get over ourselves. These sports are dull as drying paint in comparison. The things I've seen these soccer men do with their feet and heads is worthy of adoration. Not to mention that they're insanely hot, too. One of the Korean players was gorgeous. Thousands of women shrieked at the top of their lungs when he'd appear on the screen. Wow! I was almost one of them.

And more happened, but I don't have time to type it.

Now, to pack.

#1

Moving my life into storage next Saturday, and I've not yet bought boxes.

#2

Being unemployed by choice. Left my job yesterday, but not without a great amount of appreciation and outright warmth from just about all of my colleagues. I'm going to miss them.

#3

All the commitments this weekend, including a meetup with the Marquise and the King of the Nachoheads that's been moved to a different venue tonight: the new Malediction Society. I dropped a commitment today with The Frenchman to do the box thing.

#4

Venus Night at Lair de Sade last night until 1:30am. Ugh. But we had to go for a friend's sake. I wore a little Catholic school girl uniform (of sorts) with stockings and spiked heels. Me loves the mind fuck of topping whilst dressed like a submissive.

#5

Not having my kitties.

#6

Having so much love it knocks me out every day. Wow! :D

My left eyelid has been twitching since Friday.

I received my visa at the French Consulate last Wednesday morning. They paste it directly into your passport, so I had to be present for it. I waited in line as a family in front of me was straightening out some very hairy visa issues. Their golden-headed, three-year-old little girl meanwhile provided much entertainment. She made baby talk in both English and French, politely petted Trog, enticed me to sit on the floor and draw with her, and generally sprayed a lot of sunshine around the dreary Visa Department. I had no fear of making mistakes as I spoke French to her, of course. I even remembered words I'd forgotten.

Last Thursday night, I secured my storage place. It was a wee bit more expensive than the usual Public Storage place, but it was super secure, well staffed and shiny clean. I adored the site guard. He was a Vietnam Vet (ex-medical corp) named George who regaled me with stories about this and that. Nothing too important, but he did alude to his service time and how he quit drinking some time ago. He was like a lovable biker grandpa, the kind who would go out and pound your bad boyfriend into the ground with his fist, then drink his third pot of black coffee.

This weekened, I shopped for light clothing so that I will survive the Vermont humidity, as well as comfy sandals for walking all over Middlebury College. But, you say, Goths don't wear comfy sandals! They were boots! Big boots! Doc Martins and Frankenstein platforms with 307-1/2 grommet holes up to the knee! Vat ist zis sandals?!? True. I never wear sandals. I hardly ever even wear open-toed shoes. But I knew the heat would kill me if I wore my boots or pink-n-black tennies all the time. I went to Sketchers and found cute little comfy closed-toe sandals with Mary Jane toes and black lace mesh. The soles are even bouncy. They'll do fine, methinks. I also picked up a giant case "book" to store all my CDs. I'm throwing away all the jewel cases and giving away the towers to save space in storage.

But my eyelid is still twitching.

MAC makeup remover blinded me for several hours on Sunday morning. The night before, the Frenchman and I attended a fantastic fetish dinner put on at The Ivy Manor. The dinner was prepared by Chef Damon of Cinnabar fame. It was truly extraordinary. We enjoyed the company of my dear friend Christa Faust. And I did awful things to The Frenchman as we ate that he loved. (Ah! Perverts in love!) But when we got home, I tried to wash off the makeup with the new MAC remover, and some of it smeared across my left eyeball. I could not wash it out! My vision was blurry, if not uncomfortable. I went to bed thinking it would go away, but it took almost three hours the next morning to clear up. Guess what I'm returning tonight?

I need to meditate, but I settle for working out.

We saw the new X-Men movie. We enjoyed it quite a bit, although it had a few clunky lines. I'm pleased to see that the Frenchman is getting attached to these characters. I love them so much, regardless of the medium. Storm isn't really up to snuff, but the others still resonate strongly for me.

I'm also discovering problems with my investments if I move out of the country. Certain investment firms do not allow you to have investments with them if you move to a European country because they don't play by the same business rules. For example, Washington Mutual Financial Services will let you have a ROTH IRA if you live in Japan, but not England. This feels like bullshit to me, but what do I know? I encountered a similar thing with ING, although their beef is that you have to be living in the U.S. period.

No wonder my eyelid is twitching. There are so many details, so many strings to tie, people to call, things to do...

Tomorrow night, I'll attend Carolyn See's signing and talk in Los Feliz. She sent me an invite! My very own! She's been very helpful to me in my agent search. Speaking of which I received an upbeat update (we love those) from the agent who is currently reading Mr. Wicker. I feel pretty positive about this week.

If only my eyelid would stop twitching.

Later, I'll write a more full entry. But for now, I just wanted to share this photo of a bear up a tree in West Milford, New Jersey:



And, yes, that's an orange tabby cat named Jack who chased him up it and is sitting at the bottom, hissing.

Good kitty! Smoochies on the head!

The Frenchman was able to get me this picture. The house to the left is ours.



Pretty, eh? The house to the left is where we'll be living starting August 2006 for 10 months. It's a 250-year-old farmhouse. I bet there's a ghost (or two, or seven) hanging about there. It's rumored to have seen some Resistance fighting during WWII. A resident purportedly pointed a gun out one of the windows at a soldier on the grounds and shot him.

The landlords live next door, but the Frenchman says they keep to themselves. I love that about the French!

My long-stay visa was just approved by the French Consulate.

This means the French government trusts me to invade their country for 10 months -- probably because I promised not to light any fires, punch Catholics or wear a head scarf at school.

I can pick up the visa any time this week. Hurray!

As they say in software development, it's time for "code freeze," except in my case it's not really code freeze as much as calendar freeze. I've got far too much to do to get ready to add anything else to my social schedule. On June 18th, I'll be at Malediction, for those who care to join me.

I was hoping to do so much more, but it's looking grim. After June 18th, I'm packing all week long and moving June 24th.

Everything is now arranged for my car, my lodging when I return to Los Angeles in August, and my mail.

I played with Dancy the Rabbit a bit this weekend. I suspect that the Land People won't give her as much love as the Frenchman does while we're away, although I know they'll try their best to take care of her. Poor Bunn!

The kitties are slowly getting more used to my parents. My mother is concerned because Ophelia mostly sits in the closet. I told her it's because she's afraid of Republicans. So, they'd better get their act together and stop watching FOX news, or else there will surely be some spraying near the tee-vee.

On Friday night, we went to the Consul's house in Beverly Hills to say goodbye to the Vice Consul, Olivier Plançon, as he returns to France for a new position. He's an adorable man with a sparkling sense of humor that puts everyone at ease. Because the Frenchman knows him, he personally took my application for the long-stay visa. I don't have the visa in my hot little hands yet, so I'm a tad nervous about him leaving now. I'll just have to trust that the system is working for me.

So, about a month ago, I pitched to our Creative Big Cheese an idea for Disneyvillains.com, a website that aggregates all merchandising and park events related to the Disney Villains, with an online community. They were supposed to have pitch sessions this month so that employees could pitch creative ideas, but after emailing with the Creative Big Cheese and another manager, it doesn't seem like those are going to happen before I leave.

Strangely enough, I heard at lunch from a co-worker that the Creative Big Cheese was telling everyone about Disneyvillains.com in a meeting this morning, but without crediting me. For the record, I want you to know:

DISNEYVILLAINS.COM WAS MY IDEA.

I just emailed a PowerPoint presentation on Disneyvillains.com to the new Big Cheese of Disney Interactive Group (DIG). He's a cool guy who used to be our Division VP, but he was promoted a few weeks ago. Anyway, in my spare time, I put the presentation together as something fun to do as I suffered on a horrific, soul-sucking project. It seemed like a cool idea, and maybe -- just maybe -- I could do some freelancing on it. Hopefully the Big Cheese of DIG, who is a good guy, will think it's cool, too. Of course, I have no hope of getting credit for it. My ideas about the Dis belong to Uncle Walt.

But don't forget:

DISNEYVILLAINS.COM WAS MY IDEA.

A website in and of itself devoted to Disney villains isn't exactly original -- there are lots out there. In fact, a guy in Alabama bought the domain back in 2004 and hasn't done anything with it (probably because he'd get sued). However, the idea of a site that aggregates Disney merchandising and Park events, with an online community is definitely new to Disney. (It even ties in to a bigger, totally hush-hush marketing campaign in the works now.) They are the last to capitalize on some of the very characters that have made them who they are because the company philosophy at one time didn't tolerate any emphasis on the villains. But times are a-changin' and edgier ideas are definitely on the plate, especially as Disney tries to reach out to tweens and teens, who could give fuck all about Pooh, mermaids and dancing candlesticks.

Anyway, if it happens, I'm the one who thought of it. ME.

Thank you.