Happily, none of the above! I've been traveling--on small planes, too. I got onto the latest one, quickly realized I was in row 8 of 9 (nine rows! That's it!), and promptly panicked. Behind me, a teen girl kept saying, "It's soooooo scary! Omigosh, I'm so scared! I feel NAUSEOUS!" This, of course, made me feel tons better. One of you had mentioned that you put on a brave face for your kids--it's always easier to be brave for others--and I thought of this as I looked out the window and reminded myself that the plane wasn't, in fact, anywhere near anything it could crash into--that is, the plane could seemingly drop ten feet any time it felt like it, because the ground was thousands of feet away.
I've brought along three paperbacks + the Kindle--I'm always amazed that it doesn't, like an overstuffed carry-on, bulge incredibly no matter how much I put on it. So, while the plane bumped and jerked and freaked out me, the teen behind me, and a probably even the stoic-looking Kindle reader beside me, I found this work very amusing:
Sleeping Naked is Green: How an eco-cynic unplugged her fridge, sold her car, and found love in 366 days, by Vanessa Farquharson
Now, granted, I was on a plane, drinking non-organic apple juice out of a plastic cup, and had zero plans involving carbon-offsets or hybrid rentals while reading this. The voice is fun and upbeat; she's so earnest in her efforts--and she certainly isn't of the "We all must do this or the world will end tomorrow" variety. Very good.
But my favorite passage has to do with inviting her literary agent over to help her build a compost bin. And not from a kit, either--from her local Home Depot, which means many small pieces of wood and wire, hinges, handles and staple guns.
My instincts told me to search for the IKEA guide and Allen key but neither was to be found. I was just me, and these tools, and this mess. I poured myself a warm gin martini and called my agent.
Sam...is everything an agent should be--an ego-booster, social networker, shameless promoter, and a handyman. He likes to keep this aspect of his personality on the down-low, preferring that the only tool people see in his hands is a corkscrew, but when I explained my situation, he took pity.Now, in general, I would say that it's not a good idea to ask your agent to help you with your building projects.
"I'm staring at a pile of wood in my living room," I said. "It needs to become a compost bin by midnight. Will you come over?"
After a pause, I threw in some high-meets-low rhetoric: "It'll be fun--construction and cocktails!"
As a man with a busy social life, Sam probably wasn't thrilled about committing to this; however, as a hipster literary agent, he just couldn't resist the irony.
"I'll be there as soon as I get off work," he said.
That said, I certainly understand the temptatin. Bringing lumber on the subway simply isn't a one-person job. I did this once, years ago, when my roommate and I thought building a table from scratch was a good idea.
We were young, foolish, and IKEA-less (this was before one moved to Brooklyn), ran across the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway (yes, that's a six-lane highway) to the local Home Depot, and dragged the wood home--over the freeway, up the twenty someodd (I exaggerate: it's more like eight or ten) flights of stairs at the 4th Ave/9th St stop, onto two subways, through our neighborhood, up our stairs--annoying many New Yorkers in the process.
But we got a custom table out of all of it, and I still think that anything you make yourself will be far more enjoyable, in the long run, than something you have delivered (as is possible in NYC: one can order everything from tables to fully-lit Christmas trees, ready to be plugged in) fully assembled.
Now, does this mean that, the longer you spend on finding an agent and editor, the more you'll appreciate it when it happens? I'm not sure.
But it sure beats vermiculture. Green or no, I'm sure even the most frustrating agent-finding process smells better than a group of mail-order worms feasting on your compost within your apartment (even if within a compost bin built with your agent's help). If I had a backyard...maybe. If I knew it'd turn into a book deal, as Vanessa Farquharson did...possibly. For now--no. Just no. I'd go through gallons of apple-cinnamon Febreeze a day. Though it smells delicious, it isn't cheap--or green, either.
8 comments:
Interesting. I'd never expect an agent to have enough free time to help build a compost bin. Give editorial notes to help improve world building--maybe. A big ol' place to dispose of garbage--no. Unless perhaps, said compost bin could be used for crappy manuscripts and should've-never-been-sent queries.
Oh, and I go up in a 4-seater (two rows of two) Cessna once a week. So next time you're in FL let me know and we'll give you a tour of the beaches in a true small plane. No screaming teens guarantee included. ;)
Personally, I want my agent to be made of strawberry daiquiris and recyclable plastic. And wit!
The last time I was in one of those small planes the passenger behind me DID puke, so perhaps you should count yourself lucky?
As a long-time backyard composter, I would definitely advise against an apartment bin;) HOLY STINK FEST. No amount of fabreeze-- and seriously, I mean NO amount-- would cover up that stench. Of course, when my kids did an experiment with sunflowers grown in composted vs. non-composted dirt, the composted flowers grew to insane heights-- 14 feet! and the dirt ones capped out at five feet...That book is making my must read pile, however, because I love a good look at ways we can make a difference that aren't overly preachy or we're-all-gonna-die-if-you-drink-a-starbucks-and-forget-your-cup-or-ever-ever-ever-leave-a-toaster-accidently-plugged-in-to-suck-up-electricity-all-night-long variety.
My husband was in one of those tiny planes (they are the only kind that fly to our neck of the woods) once when it was struck by lightening. Needless to say, when he travels with me now, we road trip most places;)
I got all the way to the end of the post before going, "What, she built this thing in NYC?"
Out here in the happy boondocks, building a compost bin is only weird because what doesn't get fed to the chickens just gets thrown on the heap. Or at the edge of the woods. Or whatever. So there's no point, unless you don't like raccoons digging through the compost.
But yeah. Building one in New York City? With your agent? Wow.
I should note a few things:
1) The author of this book lives in Ontario, not NYC. But she did sell her car (and had to use a Zipcar to pick up the lumber). In NYC, well, it's still more difficult. Mostly because GK + driving does not mix well.
2) Some say that if you have the right ratio of green to brown compost material, it will not smell. I'm not buying it. She put this on her fire escape, but still...ewww. You'd think it'd attract all sorts of animals.
3) Supposedly NYC has a program that allows one to drop-off compost at certain points. And, in theory, most people just keep a bin in their freezer until they drop it off, so it doesn't smell. This seems like a much better option.
4) This book isn't brilliantly written--you can tell the writer is very young--but it's good enough, and the subject matter is good enough, that I enjoyed it.
yeah...that whole green to brown ratio? It's an urban myth. We calculated the first year. And believe me, it still stunk worse than 10 skunks with indigestion. Freezer compost is an interesting notion....unless, like me, you keep frozen chopped up fruit for smoothies in a bin in the freezer....one morning without enough coffee and I'm pretty sure I'd be drinking blended compost;)
@ Kate
Compost smoothies. ROTFL!
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