It’s been a week since I finished Liquor. As I was reading I kept thinking that the characters’ backstory sounded pretty interesting, and I wished the author had written that book. Then I discovered she had. But I put off ordering The Value of X from Amazon, thinking I’d have a look around town on the off chance that one of the local stores or libraries would have it, even though I knew damn well the odds of anyone around here stocking a small press book were next to nil. Now I’m reduced to reloading my order status page, snarling “SHIP IT, BITCH” under my breath even though I know damn well it’ s Sunday and it’ll go out tomorrow. Nothing good can come of this; I really should forget about it and write the scene that’s slowly forming in my head. That would mean actual book progress, though, and that would just be unnatural.
It’s dreary and rainy outside and I’m in a strange mood. If I didn’t have a dozen writerly things to do today I’d probably hop in the car and head to the bookstores in Austin. Not that they’d have The Value of X either. Someday Amazon will offer teleportation as a shipping option and I will be a happy, happy girl.
Yes, this post is the absolute epitome of cat-waxing. The scene is shaping up, though. Off I go.
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