My age shows through more all the time. I canceled all my plans last night so I could lie on the couch, eat a crazy amount of food, and fall asleep early. Slept over ten hours. I still hate that I have to sleep, but I feel sooooo much better.
I have now sold twenty-one books. Not very many, really, but still enough to make me feel that someone will actually read them, which is a nice feeling. Most of the ones that have been purchased, I know who bought them. However, there are a couple that I have no idea who got them. I wish there was some way to know who they are—to know which advertising that I’m doing worked, if any. I haven’t heard anymore from any publishers/agents lately. That’s rather discouraging. While I don’t enjoy the rejection letters, at least they are acknowledging my books’ existence, even if they’d rather them not, exist that is.
I have a new obsession. It’s not that new, actually, but it is growing.
Oh. My. Goodness. It’s pungent, tangy, and kinda waxy. Fantastic. It made up a huge portion of my dinner last night. It is in the homemade chicken tortellini soup (base recipe provided by KE, altered drastically by me and partly by HWMNBN). One of the alterations is an entire brick of Parmesan and a brick of Asaigo. In addition, I purchased one of those loaves of hot bread that are sitting at the front of King Soopers. They sit there, steaming, glaring seductively, their sent wafting over, their pheromones causing unsettling stirrings. How is a red-blooded, non-castrated American male supposed to resist? By the time I arrived home, there was only a small portion of the loaf remaining, still tantalizing, requesting role-play. I obliged. Sliced, doused with olive oil, dusted with oregano and thyme, enveloped in thick slabs of Asiago, lustfully toasted till the cheese oozed golden with climax.
It was good night.
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago