Monday, December 1, 2008

voice is gone

Now that my allergies have caused my voice to go, I am more talkative than ever... and by talkative, I mean ... what's the word?... literary? Writerly? I don't know. I only know that I am still happy about selling my book. My glasses aren't rose-colored. They are pink. I am elated at the idea of meeting my agent and editor in my dearly loved NYC. Wow. How many times can I say... "I'm meeting my agent and editor for lunch..." How many times could I say that out loud before it would lose its zest? I wonder if it ever loses its passion and heart for Stephen King or if he even has to or wants to show up? I bet J. K. Rowling is still reeling. I bet those words still make her gasp for breath. I am a wee manic anyway; I am used to being the underdog. I am used to being, truth be known, abused. Wow. Not for a long time have I been abused. (Now I sound like Yoda.) I am very excited, happy, thrilled, ecstatic, wild, enraptured and delighted at my prospects. If I die today, my book will still live on. Morose? Perhaps. But true. And good. Like chocolate. Like wine. Like red wine and fig newtons and best friends barefoot heel to heel. XOXOXOX Thank you!

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