08 April 2003 - 6:14 p.m.

I have too blisters on my index finger that form the shape of an exclamation mark!

Yes, even my injuries are bubbly and cute!

Someone volunteered to take author pictures of me and others, citing the fact that it's something one should do while one is still young. It didn't occur to me that she was serious until I was pretty much committed to posing for them.

Um. Thanks Bonnie?

Author photos are so dorky. They're like senior pictures, only worse, because most high school seniors are good-looking, or can be made so with the help of a talented photographer. But much time (and often much stress, drinking and poverty) between the days of eighteen and the days of one's first real publication.

Unless you are some kind of prodigy, in which case you are probably not reading my diary. You are probably slaving away in your garrett. Hope it's working out for you.

Anyway, I sort of hate how authors are always like, chilling on some rock or log or in front of their books or with their dog. I mean, get over your damn selves, guys! How often does one really sit on a log? Author photos should be taken at Wal-Mart. With good hair and make-up, if you must. I allow that vanity sometimes wins out over other things. But at least let's keep the location authentic.

We're getting our pix taken at Hollins, either outside or in the grad lounge. So I suppose that's not too much of a stretch.

I need to pick an outfit, too. I really just want to look sullen in my sunglasses, but the photogrpaher does not think I should hide my "beautiful eyes."

From what? The four people who will buy my book?

Whatever. Since my Grace Kelly-inspired outfit was a hit the other night, amybe I will just go with it:

Or is it too retro? Maybe this, plus a bra, is more my speed:

Sorry, but for the purposes of book jackets, I don't want to look like an author. I want to look like a movie star. In the presence of Daniel Mark Epstein, the reverse is true. Pardon my fickleness.

Then again, if I'm going to do the Anita Ekberg thing, I might as well just put on a black dress and get thigh-deep in a fountain. And suck the face off a young Marcello Mastroianni.

Now, that would beat sitting on a rock any damn day.

What I'm wearing: Blue turtleneck, pants.

What I'm reading: "I Fall in Love too Easily," Frank

What I'm doing after this: Eating black bean soup.