Conversation

The following is direct transcript of the phone conversation I just had with my brother.

Me: Do you know yet?
Him: No, we find out at 3:00 today
M: Well HURRY UP!
H: I know.
M: Are you excited?
H: YES!
M: I think it's a boy.
H: What if it's not a boy OR a girl? What if it's an alien?
M: Then you'll make lots of money.
H: True.
M: So either way, you win.
H: I'm hoping that when we have the ultrasound thing and see the baby that it will be wearing a cape. And they will say "You're having a Batman!" cause that would be cool.
M: Yeah.


UPDATE: It's a Girl!

If this is a race I've lost sight of the bunny

People hate to wait. This is evidenced every single day on my drive home from work. There's too many cars and too few lanes and neverending construction and shifty speed traps and employees just trying to get home already. And me. Seems like at least once a day someone cuts me off coming perilously close to my car. Closer than close. So close I gasp and see a short slide show of my life. Usually this daredevil manages to make it exactly four inches ahead of me. And usually this same daredevil makes it to the exit exactly when I do. And we make it through the light at the exact same time. I bet we even hit our garage doors simultaneously. And yet every day, at 6:10pm, there he is again....taking my life into his hurried hands. Desperate to beat me by at least those four inches. Because to merge lanes early, even to merge on time, means there might be waiting. And people hate to wait.

Me too.

I haven't talked about TMC in a while. Not because it's been resolved but just because I'm over it already. It's now been 21 months. Or twenty months and .... oh who cares. It's been a long time. Chinese water tortue long. And I'm ready to cut someone off so I can get four inches ahead. I'm ready to risk a collision just for the possibility of advancement. Because currently I feel stunted. Like I'm waiting for the opportunity to...wait. There are certain things in my life that can't happen until this issue is resolved. Taken care of. Banished forever. And that's the summary....every day I'm waiting for the chance to wait. Life continues to move around me. In front of me. And I'm still here.

Waiting.

Also, as of today I have SEVEN close friends and family members that are pregnant...five of which are due within four weeks of each other. See what I mean? Life continues.

Also, The Agent called. Left a message. I called back. Left a message. He called back. Left a message. And life continues.

R.I.P. Meredith

Oh Seattle Grace....you've won me back!

What I Am is What I......Was?

I work in the music industry and today during one of those if-this-meeting-goes-on-one-minute-longer-I-will-vomit meetings that we all know and love....one of my co-workers shared a video she had just completed for an artist on her roster. It was for a song called "I'm Not Who I Was" and the entire video was a series of photographs of various people holding up a white board with a message written on it. The first photograph of each person had a description of who they used to be. The second, who they are now. One girl's first photo had her holding up a board that said "Broken", her second said "Mending". One said "Fear" followed by "Free". These people were showing visible representations of who they used to be....and who they are becoming. Who they have become.

As each photograph passed....I found myself coming unglued. Unglued in a meeting where composure is everything.

I couldn't help but wonder - am I who I've always been?
Doubtful.
Worried.
Wavering self-esteem.
Lazy.
Apathetic.
Spiteful.
Angry.
Hopeless.

Time passes and I find myself thinking....will I ever change? I'm a believer in Christ. I believe that his grace has covered a multitude of me. So why do these things, these weights, keep hanging on?

Why do I continue to be who I've always been?

Reason #662

Reason #662 Why I Love Ryan Illingworth.

My phone just rang.
It was Perfect Ryan.
Home Sick.
Coughing and sounding incredibly sick and sad.
He's been home sick all day.
Taking Nyquil.
And sleeping.
I say "How are you feeling sweetie?"
He says "OK. Should I wash colors in cold or warm*?"
I say "WHAT?"
He says "Colors....should I wash them in cold or warm?"
"Stop that" I say "I'll do laundry when I get home!"
"It's ok, I've already got it started" he says.
"What would you like me to cook for dinner?" he adds.
"You're unreal**" I say.



*Maybe the reason he was doing laundry is not because he's perfect but because I'm so imperfect and there are no clean clothes to be had because of my lack of laundry doing. Dang.


**Nope. He's perfect.

And now it's time for The Cuteness - Starring Minnie Dog

Also - here's Ryan - currently sporting the longest known hairs in his 25 years. Last night two of his friends offered to pay him $120 to let them shave it off.

He passed.

He is now sleeping on the couch.

For Make Benefit....

When my first book came out I started up a fancy website cause that’s what you do these days. Anyone who is anyone (famous) has a fancy website. And I was planning to be just such anyone (famous). I had a catchy URL too – joannaharris.com. Impressive, no? I was adding my own name to the World Wide Web. “Watch out world” I said, “I’ve written a book!” My friend Costa designed the site and made a place for email and journal entries and news…..like a real live website ought to have. I was planning to be big time. Preparing for an inbox full of fan mail…or something. It even had a section called “books” for the many many books I would surely be writing. And selling. And signing.

Soooo then....

I lost my book deal. And then I lost my mind for a moment. Slightly. I was kinda-sorta-in-a-way mad at the whole idea. I was mad that I had failed (supposedly) and mad that I had some big fancy website with my big fancy face on it and nothing to really show for it. So instead of paying the monthly hosting fee to keep it up (which originally was supposed to be offset by the famous money I would be famously raking in due to my famous-ness) – I shut it down. I didn’t take much time to think about it. I just sent a one sentence email to “tech support” asking them to discontinue joannaharris.com. And they did. Just like that. And I moved on. Just like that.

Then today….. I got the below email forward from my boss.

-----Original Message-----
From: A fan
Sent: Mon 2/5/2007 9:08 PM
To: Jo’s Boss
Subject: ATT: Joanna Harris

Please advise Ms. Harris that her own website is not accessible at joannaharris.com It takes you to a site of patches that you can sew on your jacket to benefit rescue dogs.
I was hoping to comment on a book she wrote that I just finished reading.
Thanks.
A fan

I guess someone noticed that I wasn’t around.
And then stalked me at my place of business.
And I guess I forgot that some people out there are still reading my book.
And that maybe I shouldn’t give up on things so easily.
And that I’m a dork.
And that my inconsistency has apparently been benefiting rescue dogs.
Amen.

Mind your Manor

So my friend Michelle recently moved from our highly "safe" and suburban area of just-south-of-Nashville to the well-known "hood". Not the technical hood, per se, but the scariest hood that people choose to move into. The Safe Ghetto, if you will. I pleaded with her to stay with me in the Safe Zone of Suburbia......but she wouldn't have it. She packed her dogs and her Friends DVDs and dove right into the colorful world of East Nashville. I told her she should beware of drive-by shootings and crack houses. I told her if she wanted to spend the night in a gun-free/drug-free zone, she could come and stay with me. That I live in the safe part of our fair urban sprawl. That I have nothing to fear.

Then.....

One night in December Ryan and I were taking Minnie for a walk and wondering aloud how many inflatables and light-up nativities The Neighbors had up in their yard. (Remember THIS?) As we were walking over to find out, we could see a red glow coming from in between the houses on our street. "Good Grief!" I said. "They've really done it up this year!"

Then....

We walked around the corner and saw that the red glow was coming from an ambulance. And a fire truck. And two police cars - one of which had a guilt ridden perpetrator in the back seat....HANDCUFFED. The blinds in the house where the cops were "investigating" were all terribly askew. "Domestic", I said. "Hmmm", Ryan said. Secretly I thought.....I'm supposed to be living in Safeland U.S.A. and people are getting arrested one street over? ONE STREET OVER?

Then....

Today Ryan called me as he was walking Minnie and informed me that the house a few doors down was surrounded with FIVE police cars and they were searching a white truck parked out front. Drugs? Maybe. Stolen? Could be. Unsettling? UH-HUH!

So.....

I think we need to officially change the name of our house from Illingworth Manor to:

Da Illingworth Crib.
Yo.

The Method to My Madness

I've passed these products about a million times in Target without ever taking the time to notice. I thought they were Target branded cleaning supplies....and while I'm certainly a Target Whore to the Utmost...I never gave them a second thought. I figured it wasn't wise to skimp on things that clean and deodorize. Then I read an article in Relevant about how we're slowly killing the earth and ourselves and innocent puppies what with our harsh chemicals and scrubbing bubbles...and how Method Cleaning products are made with natural ingredients...with no chemicals made in factories...or something equally as PETA-ish. So, racked with guilt, I started recycling all my Diet Coke cans and bought some Method wipes and shower cleaner and all-purpose cleaner. And I felt pretty good about myself. Look at me! Saving Mother Earth!

But here's the part you didn't know.

THESE PRODUCTS SMELL TERRIFIC. They made my bathroom sink sparkle! They made my toilet smell fresh! Yes! I smelled my toilet! Method makes me WANT to clean my bathrooms every day just to inhale the environmentally-friendly-non-fumes. And people....ain't nuthin makes me want to clean my bathrooms. Not even when it's downright offensive. Not even when the layers of dirt and soap scum are in an all out war with each other. Not even when the sink is a lumpy bowl of ewww because of all the toothpaste globs. Not even when Ryan notices.

In short, I hate cleaning the bathroom.

But now....now that Method has changed my life....I shall wear Birkenstocks and make my own granola and change my name to Rainbow of Sunshine Illingworth.




P.S. Do not read the below if you haven't seen the Golden Globes or the premier of 24. And if you haven't seen the premier of 24 - WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, I ASK YOU.

Biggest TV surprises last night:
1. That Jack shot Curtis....IN THE NECK. Couldn't he just shoot him in the arm or something? What's with the homicidal rage? However, I do not think Curtis is dead. I also do not think Tony Almeda is dead. We'll see him again.
2. The nuke.....went off. IT WENT OFF.
3. Borat is surprisingly handsome when being a semi-normal person.
4. Grey's Anatomy beat 24 and Heroes. Whaaaa???

This Year I'm Going as a Big Time Author

Several weeks ago I was talking with a guy in my office and he mentioned that he had heard a rumor that I wrote a book. Indeed, I said, I did. He asked a few questions about it and then asked the obvious...are you going to write another one? I then explained that I wrote a new manuscript and right about the same time I turned it in my publisher dumped me. Man, I loved telling that story again. Guy at Work mentioned that he knew a guy...an agent. Ok, I said. I could contact him for you, he said. Ok, I said. Given the amount of disappointment I've been through this year...I wasn't expecting much. I figured Guy at Work would forget he even mentioned it. But he didn't. Several weeks later he copied me on an email exchange between he and The Agent. Guy at Work had emailed The Agent and said lots of nice things about me - which surprised me. The Agent emailed back saying he'd be willing to talk to me - which surprised me more.

I should say - The Agent is pretty much the agent of the stars....at least as far as Christian authors go. There is not one reason I can see that he would ever feel any need whatsoever to talk to little 'ole me. Author of One Book that Failed. But today, The Agent to the Stars, emailed me and said he was in town...and wanted to meet. Me. He wanted to meet me. Ok, I said.

Soooo....The Agent came to my office. We talked for an hour. He gave me loads of advice and insight and at one point he said, "I read your book excerpt on amazon.com and I really enjoyed it....I saw some talent there". (Huh?) Then he said, "I'd like for you to send me and my partner a copy of your first book and a copy of your working manuscript...then we can go from there". (Whaaa?) I tried to act cool and nonchalant, like this news had no effect on me. But it made me want to vomit.

I have a hard time thinking of myself as an "author". Sometimes my friends will introduce me to someone new as JoAnna the Author and it makes me feel ridiculous. Like Dwight Schrute telling people he's the Assistant Regional Manager. Like it's my Halloween costume. There I was, talking to an agent who works with giant talents, feeling like my cover was about to be blown.

By the way - I told this man, this man who could quite literally change my writing hobby into a writing career.....that I based a lot of my story line on the book of Habakkuk. That I did hours of research on Habakkuk and wrote for hours and hours about Habakkuk. That me and Habakkuk....we were tight. Then, after The Agent left...as I looked through my manuscript before I emailed it to him....I saw it.

My book is based on Hosea.

I am SO landing this deal.