Success is such a strong word . . .
Five books, seven covers, hundreds of reviews and a kabillion category changes later, I am applying for a spot on the Amazon Success Story scoreboard. Full disclosure: while I am not making enough to pay for Lululemon writing pants, I could probably spring for a pair of LuluLychees. (I would buy those.)
I lost my ego along with the placenta of my first-born, making writing a natural career choice. More than seven hundred rejections, three agents, and close-but-no-cigar publishers toying with my affections, I perversevered. (I know that’s not a real word, but it should be.)
Two years ago I pulled Amazon’s finger and brought forth on this continent, a new book, conceived in loneliness and dedicated to the proposition that all writers are weird. Now we are engaged in a great uncivil war, testing whether any book so conceived can long endure . . . (Please stop picturing me in a homespun Laura Ingalls Wilder dress, churning butter. I’m trying to thank Amazon here.)
I owe Amazon a debt of gratitude, or at least a 70% royalty. Amazon’s cast and crew is conscientious and kind, and it feels great to be welcomed into their creative vortex.
I am on the edge of my seat, as both a reader and a writer, waiting to see what happens next. Suggestion box: Say someone was reading her kindle, drinking a glass of wine, and eating a chocolate brownie bundt cake, which resulted in a juggling mishap–with a happy ending. Siri suggests you call it the Fondle. (I’d tap that app.)