Everyone except me, that is. I'm a shade in this space these days. Offline writing consumes my time and energy. I'm thrilled with the results: not one but TWO books launching in January, and another on its heels in March.
Word Hermit Press selected another writer's novel for publication. I can't wait to help the promotional charge for Lisa A Kramer's feminist YA story P.O.W.E.R., coming December 1, 2014.
A new website is in the works, with the awesome Cheryl and Bill Smithem guiding my techno-challenged steps. After months of data analysis and evaluation in the wake of my first book's birth, I'm shaking some things up, and I'm looking forward to seeing results in coming months.
Enough excuses about my whereabouts.
Nancy Teixeira and her husband won the To Live Forever: Journey to Charleston Contest back in April. Remember that one?
I feel like I'm back on the Natchez Trace. Except my feet aren't bleeding. And I'm not about to kill Dad.
For the next week, I'm doing a marathon series of book appearances. Lowcountry South Carolina. Boston area Massachusetts. Eleven appearances in seven days.
And I got my period early. Yay me.
If you are free on July 30 or 31 in the greater NYC area, please make plans to attend the Pop-Up Gallery Event at SoHo Photo Gallery. Regular reader Robert Johnson will have up to three works on display. (I already bought one of them, a wintry surprise for MTM. He squealed.)
Do you like to get the old fashioned, luddite version of mail?
Fossil-fuel burning. Ink and paper. Lick and stick.
I confess to ardent worship of the antiquated practice of letter writing. It's one reason I send handwritten postcards to numerous children on every trip. Why I mailed over 100 letters in advance of the release of my novel. Why the proprietress of the local stationery shop turns cartwheels every time I darken the door.
Lately, though, I've been thinking about letter writing for another reason.
I'm sick of being online.
When does a girl become a woman? Develop those fabled feminine wiles? Is it during wide-eyed, chub-cheeked infanthood? Her inaugural surf of the red wave? Maybe it happens the first time she, um...........logs her First Time. Or maybe it's the first time she enjoys it.