I am busy with the next book, catching up on what’s been going on lately Chez Morse. Isn’t that sort of what I’m supposed to be blogging about? I write memoirs, dag nabbit. Between the book and this blog, it’s like I’m constantly fighting the urge to plagiarize myself.

Last night at dinner I told my husband what I have planned for Chapter Six. It’s about cleaning out our closets, basically—which is why I’m cool with the fact that it’s unlikely I’ll ever convince a publisher to give me an advance. They’d have to read the thing to understand. I tried writing out a list of chapter summaries and it was just plain stupid:

  • Chapter One: Susan worries unnecessarily about her marriage.
  • Chapter Two: Susan goes to a Broadway show and becomes unnecessarily worried about her children.
  • Chapter Three: Susan finds a few more things to worry about.
  • Chapter Four: Susan gets a new dog to distract herself. The plan backfires horribly.
  • Chapter Five: It’s all very stressful.
  • Chapter Six: Cleaning the closets helps a little.

So now we are caught up on the Morses and there is no need to read the first third of this next book. Is it clear we’re approaching a cliffhanger?

I knew this blog was a bad idea.

I had sort of the same problem with The Habit. I’d tell people I was writing a book about my mother and their eyes would glaze. I completely understood, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I am fascinated by the absurdities of the everyday, and I often feel a strong impulse to document them in a way that moves, entertains and comforts me (and, hopefully, others). Besides, I really can’t be bothered with making things up. I don’t mind about the publishing advance problem—I’m having too much fun writing to give it much thought.

Any way my husband was crying when I got to the end of my summary of the closet-cleaning chapter. I am pretty sure that’s a good thing. You kind of had to be there. Hopefully you’ll see.

Okay the dog's not so bad.

Okay the dog’s not so bad.