Stacy Horn

I went out to the Transit Museum with my friend Marisa to see a friend’s sister read from her book, Underground Woman: My Four Years As a New York City Subway Conductor. She, Marian Swerdlow, was an incredibly charming reader, and a great storyteller. She started in 1982 and was among the first women hired as a conductor by the MTA. Someone asked her how the men treated her and of course I expected her to launch into a horror story, but she said great! They were taken aback at first, but not in a negative way and very quickly they decided they loved having women around. “They could come for work and find a date.” But aside from that perk, they were very helpful and welcoming, she said. You always hear about how badly people behave and alright already. We suck, I get it. But she spoke of them fondly and it was nice to hear for a change.

I went downstairs to see the old subway cars and it was depressing, because they were once so beautiful. I should have taken a picture of the cars now so you could see the difference. I mean, look at these trains. Gorgeous. I forgot to write down the years, but I’m pretty sure the first is from the 30’s, the next is from the 40’s and the last one was the 50’s. SAD.

I made the title of this post “Nice to Know I Wasn’t Invisible” to help myself remember that toward the end of my life I would like to write a book with that title. I was talking on Echo about high school and said this:

“I always thought I was mostly invisible in high school. I was distracted by so many things, and not very present. My parents divorced so I left school early and went to a job, had a boyfriend who was in college. But what little feedback I’ve gotten over the years has been mostly positive. Nice to know that I wasn’t invisible.”

The picture above is of the poet Robert Hayden. One of the characters in the always amazing Friday Night Lights quoted him last week. Then, whoever did the episode write-up on Television Without Pity said that the best Robert Hayden poem was Those Winter Sundays. I had to look and sure enough, it’s an unforgettable poem, and fits very nicely into my invisible theme. (I defy any dad to read it and not cry.)

Those Winter Sundays
by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Plus, I really LOVE this song. But I have to say, I also like a lot of the others, too. So it’s going to be an enjoyable season for me.

[Video removed because the link no longer works.]

My friend Howard got a great review in the New York Post today. This is his first novel (he’s ghost written books for others). Horror books are not really my thing, but of course I read it and it was SO CREEPY. I wish you could hide your eyes in books when it gets to the really scary parts, the way you can at movies. It’s too bad horror doesn’t get reviewed more (unless you’re Steven King or one of a small select group). I’d love to hear more reviewers opinions about it. It’s fun to read what people write about your friends.

I’m in a very good mood today, because my agent responded to the chapters I sent. She didn’t like one, but I knew she wasn’t going to, so I was already prepared for that, and aside from making some editing suggestions, she loved the rest. My biggest, biggest fear was that I hadn’t delivered what my editor wanted. My editor wanted me to weave in material outside Duke, more ghost-y stuff. I didn’t want to do what so many other writers have done when faced with writing about parapsychology — trying to make it more than it is, and trying to make it scary. Basically, exaggerating. The truth is actually more interesting.

So, I wove in lots of strange events they looked into, which are absolutely fascinating in and of themselves without trying to make them anything more than what they are, and in the process of trying to tell the truth about what did and did not happen I found some really compelling information about apparitions (and other things). I don’t want to give it away. But when I asked my agent if she thought I had delivered what my editor wanted, because she agreed with my editor that this was needed, she answered, “Totally.”

The pictures below are from the pillow fight in Union Square on Sunday. I can’t believe how awful people can be sometimes, but then they go and do something like this. Gotta love ’em.

So, the Oscars. Pretty good, I thought. Most lovely: Gwyneth Paltrow, Helen Mirren, Jennifer Hudson, Reese Witherspoon. My acquaintence won an Oscar! It was mind blowing seeing him hug some of the most famous people in the world on his way up to accept it. Then hearing them thank HIM in their speeches. He’s living on a different planet now. (But yay, him! He was always nice, and there was something endearing about him.)

I noticed that Jennifer Hudson ran off the stage, leaving George Clooney trailing behind her. I woulda slowed down and let him catch up. “Hi George. One of the greatest nights of my life began with you calling my name …” No way. I would have been just like her. A little bit out of my mind and oblivious.