Whenever people recognize me in real life (which isn‘t terribly often - the one who is almost always spotted is Rand, and from there they are able to conclude that the loyal hobbit by his side is me), they often stare blankly before asking, Why are you here? I find this charming. It‘s fun to
I need to tell you about one of the cooler things that ever happened to me. And I know some of you are like, Ugh, no, Geraldine this whole neurotic, insufferable girl with the awesome life thing is wearing thin and I KNOW IT IS, PEOPLE. It is not my fault, okay? I do
Being a writer means that you‘ll never have a shortage of criticism, whether it is offered up to you in heaping scoops of vitriol from faceless masses on the internet, or you gather it yourself from your never ending well of neurotic self-doubt. Hooray. Add being a woman into the equation and your cup overfloweth.
Last week, I decided to try Soylent. For those unfamiliar with this food product, Soylent is a high-protein drink designed to appeal to lifehackers, dieters, and doomsday cult members who are maybe a little shy and don‘t want to come out of their bunker for communal meals. It has an incredibly long shelf-life, and provides
Image credit. I am at my book readingin Portland. Though the room is small, it is packed. The audience is mostly friends, though there is a large cluster of people I have never met before. It is, without hyperbole, one of the highlights of my career, the sort of thing I dreamed about when I
Santa Fe has the highest concentration of galleries in the world - many of which sit side-by-side in adobe buildings along Canyon Road. It‘s like visiting a bunch of tiny museums, the price of admission being the occasional side-eye you get from gallery owners once they‘ve sized you up and realized you can‘t afford anything.
I broke my long-held rule about not taking photos of artwork while at The Georgia O‘Keeffe Museum. I don‘t know if my views on the matter have changed or not. Perhaps they‘ve shifted only slightly. I still get angry at people using flashes to light up ancient works, I still want to scream at the
I‘ve heard that writers are never really done with the books they‘ve written. That there are sentences they‘d wished they could change, long after the book goes to print. That even after it hits the shelves and the reviews are in, it haunts them like the memory of an old love they can‘t seem to
I was doing a radio spot a few weeks ago and the interviewer noted that my blog and my Twitter feed had become increasingly political in recent months. I laughed and noted that the same was true for nearly everyone I knew. Over the course of a year, I went from tweeting things like
Last week I wrote what happened when I tried Soylent. If you missed it, a quick summary: I became the human equivalent of what happens when you drop Mentos into a Diet Coke. Soylent aficionados were not happy. Their rage was understandable. After all, I‘d come for their soy isolate meal replacement beverage. Very soon