OK, so It's been a while. I was supposed to update on my new life as a novelist: Specifically what it was like to go from being chained at a desk, slaving away full-time at a job I couldn't care less about (but, albeit, was widely read and I was very good at) to being a lady of letters, making her own schedule, blahblahblah.
Let me just say this: It didn't go so well. Okay, well, it went well, but not in the way it was supposed to. I started writing a novel called "Female Kryptonite." It was about Jim - a never married, successful (in business and with the ladies), 40-something who starts to realize he's lonely - and that the problem may not be the "crazy" women he dates, but just perhaps, with him.
See, I have this theory: Men turn into women at the age of 38-42. Well, most normal men. There are defectives like Steve Bing or George Clooney, but most men desire the same thing as women: a happy monogamous relationship, children, security, etc. They just get those desires 6-8 years later. So while women get ridiculed for wanting and talking about these things - men slip under the radar. I've had several guy friends over the years realize they weren't 28 anymore, and start wigging out. Some go to therapy, some marry the first reasonable woman they date after their freakout, some join match.com. But they all want what they previously thought was years away.
So anyhoo, Jim. I started writing about Jim's journey from narcissistic bachelor to empathetic guy. And then. Well, six chapters in, I got bored with Jim. And (funny how this happens to me constantly), i became distracted. Again. I decided instead, that while i was fun-employed I was going to do things I never had the time to do.
Such things include:
So yeah, I keep saying, "In the New Year I will get back to Jim..." but I don't know. My editor at Atria asked me if I wanted to do a "book about a young female gossip columnist" - you know, a thinly veiled reference to my time at Page Six. But here's the thing: While I was done with the job, I'm not done with the peeps I worked with. Richard Johnson, Chris Wilson and an assortment of others will always be family to me - and how do you write about family without burning bridges (ahem - Augusten Burroughs) - unless, they're dead, of course. Maybe time will tell.
On the bright side, I still get the random Page Six stuff. Just the other day someone sent me a "New Moon" promotional water bottle. Apparently, I'm Team Edward. Shoot me now.
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Paula Froelich: Postcards from the Fun-Employed
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