Yesterday, I went to a two-author book-signing event at the absolutely incredible Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA. Beatriz Williams was there, talking about her new book, Cocoa Beach. And Karen White was with her. I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon there. Both authors are very smart and very talented, and they were fascinating to listen to. After their talk, they both signed books and chatted up all the fans in attendance. It was literally a standing-room-only affair. I’ll be there, doing the same thing, in September, with two excellent writers, Trudy Nan Boyce and Tracee de Hahn. It was a wonderful afternoon, and I was able to ride the high that comes from being in such rarefied company and from fantasizing about the throngs of people who will be packing into the Fox Tale to see Trudy, and Tracee, and me until . . .
This morning, when I spent some time looking through an endless stream of pictures on Facebook and Twitter. Pictures of my cool author friends and my fabulous agent, all enjoying the heck out of themselves at ThrillerFest in New York this past week. There they all were, looking so happy and carefree, and taking selfies with the big-time authors we all know and love. And here I was, sitting alone at my keyboard, way out in the countryside somewhere in central Georgia, totally jealous. I hope they all had a good time. Really . . . no really. But hey, every cloud has a silver lining. Right? Just as I was truly starting to feel sorry for myself––wishing I hadn’t missed all the fun––something supremely interesting happened. Right after I decided I needed to “pull myself together” and quit sobbing over having missed ThrillerFest . . .
I found a most-interesting email in my Spam folder. Being a natural contrarian, I’m genetically hardwired to assume that anything that shows up in my Spam folder must be the good stuff. So, I always read everything and immediately click on all the links and open all the attachments––especially the files that have “.exe” extensions. But today? Today was different. The writer was offering me the usual millions, but it wasn’t the money that caught my eye. It was the salutation in the letter that riveted me. It read: “Dear God-elect”. Wow! I had no idea this was even an elective position. And I sure don’t remember running. (Another lost time event. Oh well. Alien abductions have been on an uptick out here, lately.) Anyway, I just wish they had told me about the election results before I spent all that money getting a bunch of new business cards printed up. That’s just a joke, of course. I know I don’t have to worry about money anymore. Or, at least, soon I won’t have to. I can just think it into existence. Right? I tried thinking a bunch of new business cards into existence, suitably adorned with my new title, but nothing happened. I’m guessing that part doesn’t kick in until after the swearing-in ceremony. Hmmm! I’m wondering what the oath is going to be. I guess life will be different, going forward. While I’ve never thought of myself as a megalomaniac (which isn’t the same as not actually being one), I can already feel myself becoming insufferable. Does anyone out there know if there are term limits on this?
And about the picture at the top . . . I didn’t have any images that worked well for such an odds-and-ends blog post, so I went prospecting in the wayback on my phone for something at least a little bit different.