No, I have no idea what it means. But I’ve been saving the more creative spam subject headers for a while now. And I’ve decided that this one is as good an excuse as any to ask people what they celebrate and how. How, in effect, do you in change the ambassadorial?
Years ago, I started buying myself little gifts when I finished a book, usually a pair of earrings. Nothing expensive or elaborate; I just wanted to mark the occasion. But in 2002, while in Boulder, Colorado with one of the best media escorts on the planet, I was encouraged to buy a pair of antique white sapphire earrings in a simple hoop setting. After all, I had just finished a book and was coming up on the first anniversary of my life as a fulltime novelist. So now I have a pair of earrings that I wear every day, and I have to find a new way to celebrate finishing a book. I can’t remember what I did in 2005 — went to Philly for the 215 festival? Hey, I saw Dave, Duane and Wallace, which is pretty fun under any circumstance, and I met the Bride and the Brood for the first time, which was beyond fun. However, I still remember 2004: I bought expensive almonds and vodka. And in 2003, I finished By a Spider’s Thread while sitting in a hotel room in Edinburgh, but I don’t remember buying anything except some unfathomably expensive underwear in Dublin a few days later, where we figured out that buying new underwear was much, much cheaper than asking the hotel to launder our dirty underwear. (Much of the final draft of Spider’s Thread was completed in Galway, however, and I have a sentimental spot for that city and the lovely hotel where I stayed.)
Of course, buying things is not, and should not be, the only way to mark a special occasion. The walk I took in the autumnal twilight the night I finished To the Power of Three was as important as the almonds and vodka, more so. And, sometimes, the real celebration is simply a shower. Depending on the circumstances, I tend to work dirty toward the end of a project. Interpret that as you will.
At any rate, the 340 pages that make up NO GOOD DEEDS are sitting within arm’s length and the blogosphere seems to be filled with anniversaries and accomplishments this week. (See Secret Dead Blog for the latest on Duane’s third novel. Meanwhile, Kevin Wignall is writing a serial online and Bryon has just published his first online ‘zine, Demolition, and Jennifer Jordan is making progress on the Anthology That Dare Not Speak Its Name In Front of My Parents.)* I’m going to walk my pages down to the UPS store, photocopy the whole thing, and then buy a cheesesteak at the Greek place, the one that makes subs in pitas. Eventually, I might even wash my hair and clean my office. And I think I’ll buy a potato or two because I’ve just learned how to make homemade potato chips in the oven. The Gourmet Cookbook says this recipe alone is enough to justify the purchase of a mandoline and my first round of satisfied customers, which included two very hungry 11-year-old boys, agree with Gourmet.
So in change the ambassadorial home-made potato chips. Now that we’ve had such a hatefest on this page, how about a fest-fest? Or memories of places you love because of unlikely things that happened there? I spent only three days in Edinburgh, but I love it still. Not a hard thing to do, admittedly, but when I think Edinburgh, I don’t first remember the castle or the salmon, or the amazing productions of The Seagull and Hamlet, or the fabulous Irish comedian, or even the statue of Arthur Conan Doyle.** I remember sitting in a rather cramped hotel room, looking in wonder at a book that had decided it was finished.
*By the way, if there’s an easy way for an idiot such as myself to insert links here, I’d be happy to learn it.
**I just realized that Endinburgh is the city where I was given the Claddagh heart I wear. Still, truth be told, I remember finishing the book.