This is a picture of me being a writer.
See how I'm thinking, "Why the heck am I holding a pen
when there's a perfectly good computer in the next room?'
Writers think stuff like that.
All the time.
Ugh! I'm tired of promoting my stuff! Especially when what I really want to do is talk to you about this dream I had. I know, I've said I'd rather fork out my spleen and serve it with gravy than listen to other people's dreams. But this is MY dream, so it's far superior to those lesser, boringer dreams.
But first, just a reminder that the Story @ Home conference is March 9 & 10, and there are still tickets. It's going to be uber awesome, and if you don't attend you'll just wind up doing something lame like bonding with your family. (Here's a link: http://www.cherishbound.com/blog/storyathome/)
And you still have time to pre-order "Tell Me Who I Am" before its release date on March 8. Right now it's just $10.50 plus shipping, which is less than a decent salad, diet Coke, and frosty at Wendy's, and is also guaranteed not to make you fat, even if you eat it. See the 'add to cart' button over there by that gigantic picture of the book.
And I'm almost done with the zero draft of my novel. That's what Becca calls it: The draft that you vomit out before revising it into something that utilizes fancy things like the English language and a plot. Another couple of weeks of burnt offerings in my behalf would be appreciated. Then we should be good.
OK. So. My dream. It's very straightforward: I was dating George Clooney, and he was super into me. Really. Kept holding my hand and everything. THAT'S how into me George was.
And just when he was ready to kiss me -- you know, the kiss of 'I want you all to myself, you incredibly desirable middle-aged housewife, you' -- he morphed into Kelsey Grammer, who then confessed that he was already married and couldn't go on a honeymoon with me because he was entering court ordered rehab again.
I put this on Facebook and got some terrific feedback. But I still would like your evaluations on the mental state of anyone who would have such a dream and then blog about it at one o'clock in the morning.
It's George Clooney's fault, right? He just can't settle down. And I'm clearly worried about him because he may one day wake up with Kelsey's hair and drug habit, and then where will he be?
That's probably it. But feel free to analyze me while you sign up for the conference, order TMWIA, toss a goat onto the altar for my novel, and scarf down a Wendy's salad.
You know I'd do it for you.