Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
Do you know how many times in a given day I wish that this would appear above my head and the song would play, just like in the commercial? There is nothing that would make me happier. I even have the face picked out that I would make for those few seconds.
I have found myself singing the jingle—PSA: it doesn’t work well on strangers, especially if your message is something like. hey, that stall doesn’t lock. Timing is everything with this one. TMYK.
