I find Ayelet Waldman incredibly interesting and can't believe that I've never read her mystery novels. My library card is the only card in my wallet I can swipe w/o potential embarrassment, so I'm going to rectify my ignorance of the "mommy track mysteries" pronto.
A couple of years back Waldman was being roasted by the Oprah crowd for an essay that championed putting your relationship with your husband first, relegating your children to important but tangential satellites.
At that time my life was a lot different, I could sign pieces of paper in exchange for goods, punch a key pad and money would come out of a slot in a wall. I still imagined that one day I *might* publish something and that my dearly beloved *definitely* would. It was just a matter of time before we took our place amongst a literary set in a small but progressive community. My daydreams didn't include a Pulitzer for either of us, but I did think our future included a checking account (To flesh the picture out I should add that my in laws are incredibly generous, so we are not living the bleak paycheck to paycheck existence that some of the details of our circumstance would suggest)
I still thought that I would complete the half finished but oh so funny (to me) colorful (literally) Sex and The City meets Bridget Jones manuscript. It's now covered in cat piss & hair, and more importantly I'm sure even *I* would find it antiquated, if I had the courage to read it. The last name of the tabloid magazine editor who I had a few sexless dates with (rare enough in that regard to be memorable) 10 years ago, (my lone publishing world contact) long forgotten.
Watching that Oprah I felt a genuine affinity for Waldman and have tried to keep up with her writings ever since.
I was happy to learn her latest "Bad Mother" will be out in May.
And I'll read it. Even if I won't know the host of the book signing when she comes to Asheville, Charlottesville or whatever Fantasyville I imagined myself living in by now.