"Oh, but *I* write literature . . ." About literary fiction. And how that term seems to be evolving; I notice in one or two comments that it doesn't seem to mean what it did when I was young.
Other than that, the mad scramble to get ready to go back east for a couple of weeks, with a week at Martha's Vineyard in there. 'Getting ready' so far has involved watching northeast weather reports every day, hoping I get to pack my deep winter clothes (long sleeves! long pants! And maybe . . . maybe I would be justified in bringing the London Fog coat I inherited from my great-aunt? She bought it in 1963, and her daughter told me six years ago when I got it that it had been worn all of three times. And I've yet to have an occasion to wear it.)
Also, trying to figure out an outfit for the New York City Mill & Swill, or the SFWA reception for authors and editors, which I have heard about all these years, but never been to. Do they dress up for that? Looking askance at my wardrobe, which is either a few fancy long dresses of various vintage, or else my scruffy everyday stuff. I think I will opt for basic black, which at night hides the age of the fabric, and over it, the green kimono jacket that
rachelmanija brought back from Japan for me.