April 13, 2005
I just finished transcribing an interview with a urologist about a device that gets implanted in your body that stimulates your sacral nerves. Say what? you say. This is for people, who for one reason or another, have problems controling their urination and aren't responsive to other types of treatment like diet or medication. The doc had a kind of thick accent so transcription was a treat.

This is a topic my editor pitched to me primarily because everybody else in the office said, "eeewww." Frankly, I'm more comfortable writing nearly any type of medical article than I am some of the lifestyle pieces. My wife--and now my editor at the OP--have teased me a bit about an article I wrote about a yoga class for teenagers, my primary problem with the class being a middle-aged man hanging around a class filled with 30 13 to 19-year-olds. Which brings up the question--what was the girl in the tight short-shorts thinking when she dressed for the class. There were only 2 guys in the class, not counting me and the photographer. Well, you can see why my wife and editor tease me about it. Call it the Dirty Old Man Factor, or DOMF for short. It was fine, though. I wasn't actually all that bothered by it, more amused in a self-deprecating way.

As for the urinary control article, my degree in Microbiology & Public Health and my 18 years working at a hospital have made me pretty pragmatic about bodily functions. We all urinate and from time to time we all have problems with it (he prays to the Prostate Gods), and the world would be a better place if we didn't get so stupid about these things. It's okay to watch an Adam Sandler movie or some other comedy that deals with farting and defecation, but you don't want to talk seriously about solving a problem. Ah Mark, get off your soap box!

Got an e-mail from my agent, Irene, today, updating me on apparently ongoing negotiations with a publisher who wants to publish The Devil's Pitchfork. We weren't sure if this was dead, and I suppose it still might be, but it appears to be still gasping for breath. As long as it doesn't compromise the publication chances for Serpent's Kiss, I'm cool with it. Patience, grasshopper! (And when you can snatch this publishing contract from my palm, you will be ready to leave the Temple, young grasshopper!)

Otherwise it's been a standard workday. Interviewed a podiatrist briefly. Fielded a phone call or two from people telling me they didn't want to talk to me, applied for a few writing gigs, ran off to the credit union, walked the dog. Life chez Terry, in other words.

Best,
Mark Terry