You asked, now let's see if these are good answers

On June 13, I wrote about queriers who sent things without any hint of their name, or through a third party, asked me to sign an NDA in order to read the query.
 
 
EM Goldsmith asked

Just curious, these queriers that want NDAs, do they claim any reason? Celebrity? Whistle blower? Spy?

 
The ones I've seen have been celebrity tell-alls, or whistle-blowers from what little I could glean.
 
 
Under the best of circumstances (the book is about Idris Elba) these aren't things I'd take on.  The idea that you'd work for someone and then write a tell-all book does not sit well with me. Same with cashing in on being friends with a celebrity. Or an ex-spouse.
 
Whistle blowers are another matter.
For those you want articles before the book. (Example: Ronan Farrow)
 
But for a spy, I just might sign!
 
 
Leslie asked

If an agent signs an NDA, does that mean he or she cannot send it to publishers?
 
I can understand some writers using pseudonyms (I would've had to do so a long time, if I'd written a certain book I thought about writing, but was stupidly talked out of doing), even where only the agent knows. But doesn't a real name have to be on the publishing contract (if not the agent representation one)?

 
 
Each NDA is worded differently and requires non-disclosure within specific parameters, related to the case at hand.
 
I've asked work-for-hire writers to sign NDAs.
 
I've had clients sign NDAs for books they ghost write.
 
But NONE of this was part of a cold query in the slush pile.
 
 
Karen McCoy asked

Are these people writing nonfiction? If so, why not write under a pseudonym?
 

I think part of the attraction of the book is that it's verifiably written by someone in the know.
 
 
 
 
And of course, it didn't take long before you asked about the really important stuff: the cat under the afghan.
 
Kitty asked

Btw, is that a new couch or did you slip-cover the snot green one?

 
Oh Kitty, you have eagle-eyes! That's the tail of Her Grace and Sleekness the Duchess of Yowl. She's nosing her way under the afghan on her real mother's couch.
 
The snot green couch lives in my apartment.
Well, lives isn't really the right word.
Hospice has been called in.
 
And in one of those "only in NYC" moments, I have to wait to get a new couch until the detritus from a remodeled apartment is removed from the hallway.  It's only been there a month. Fingers crossed that it's gone by the end of summer.
 
 
LynnRodz asked

What I want to know, however, do I need new glasses or are there three cats in this photo?
 

Time to call the optometrist! There is only one sleek beast on that couch.
Well two, if you count me.
 
 
 
On Wednesday I wrote about a memento I kept on my desk that reminded me of a seminal moment in my life.  Reading about the things you guyz keep on your desk was quite lovely.
 
I really responded to this one:

Mary said

I have a small replica of the northern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail, which I have hiked in its entirety. It's there to remind me that I can do hard things.

 
John Davis Frain said

"It's where my beloved ex, now sadly gone ahead, changed my life forever."

Well, there are multiple options for where the next line would take this story, and they include opposite directions. 

Someone can change your life forever by showing up ... or by leaving. The basis of all stories, right -- someone goes on a journey or someone new comes to town.

 

Color me curious, but I don't expect an answer.

Too bad, you're getting one.
 
My first apartment in NYC came with a roommate who was a nice enough guy. I'd known him for a few years by the time I arrived in the city.
 
But then it took a turn for the terrifying.
 
First roommate wasn't psycho or drunk, or angry. He just thought playing with guns was fun. And by playing with, I mean pointing them at people in the kitchen.
 
 
When I told my soon to be beloved about this, he gave me a look I would come to know well and said I would move in with him.
 
 
That night at the Biennial, standing in the stairwell, he told me if his landlord would not allow me to move in to his apartment, he would give notice and leave.
 
Which is what happened.

I don't know if he saved my life but it felt like it. Still does.
 
I still live in the apartment we found.
I still hear him at odd times, even though I know for an iron clad fact that he has gone on ahead.
 
So yes, he changed my life then, and last year he changed it again when he left.
 
There's a line in LA Story, the wonderful Steve Martin movie: "The weather will change your life...twice." that I think of a lot these days.