Oh my, the attention! Can you see me basking in it? Turning this way and that in my fashionable sunglasses, waving at the paparazzi?



People, people, thank you. I know you’re all going to forget about me as soon as that link drops off Blogger’s front page, as soon as you have to settle for that year-plus wait until the book actually comes out. But for now, well whoohoo! Hello! Yes, thank you – of course you can have my autograph/take my picture/adore me. I adore you too!



I know, too, for my regular fans that the blog has been somewhat of a bore lately. No XXX action! Because, as I explained, everyone and their f*cking mother (including mine) reads this blog now (not that I’m complaining, oh no!), and that includes the current object of my affections, the one-and-only Sexy Boy.



Oh yes, since we’ve been friends (-plus) for so long, he got access to the blog way back in the innocent days before I had much to say about him. Now that I want to dish, well, I can’t really, lest I begin to use the blog as a passive-aggressive communication tool. Which I have done, in the past, with varying degrees of “success." That is, I have alienated at least two people I’ve dated by saying unkind things about them on this here blog. Bad girl.



I tried, with Library Boy, to be kinder. I wrote only the positive things about him – and there were many – knowing that it was likely he would someday read the blog. And he did eventually find it, after we broke up, only to tell me that it “touched” him to read what I had to say. He realized the depths of my feelings for him, read things I’d been afraid to express since I could see him backing away. Then he asked me to get back together.



Yeah. I know.



But it was too late because a week later I’d already gotten together with that longtime object of lust, SB. This time, I hoped, for good.



Yeah. I know.



But I’m not talking about that. I’m not talking about #($~@)% anything anymore. Oh, except how I’m going to become a rich and famous drug-addicted novelist. Yes, I’ve gotten quite boring.



But I will post something soon for all you writers out there who want to sell a book (because, you know, I'm such an EXPERT now!). The gist is, of course, work hard for years, get rejected repeatedly,feel like a complete loser but keep writing anyway, and get your heart broken many, many times. But I’ll give a little more detail than that.



The scary thing is I still have a lot of writing to do. In a short amount of time. But am I complaining? Nooo, I'm not! I'm dancing! That is, when I'm not sleeping late or drinking too much Syrah or bitching about my job or revising my book with a double Americano in hand while thinking "This is complete and utter sh*t! Why would anyone want to publish it?"



Being scared is good. I think we all function best when pushed just beyond our limits, don't we?