Talking about our book is a brain-paralyzing prospect for a lot of writers. We know our book better than anyone, love it (most of the time), and yet we totally freak out when it comes time to tell someone about it. Why? Because we think too much.
Me yesterday: Me today: I'm going to take all the aspirin and call y'all in the morning.
Back when I used to care about things like social media metrics and such, some aggregator of, I don't know, Twitter Divination, alerted me that "Your feed is influential on the topic of breakfast food." Good to know, I guess, considering that I'm a Serious Author.
Saying "Not my president" is like saying "Not my cancer" and expecting your doctor to change your diagnosis. Accepting this is what you have to deal with doesn't mean giving up. It means now you know what you have to get over, around, or through.
Okay, I’m finally ready to talk about 2016. From the beginning of this year, I’ve had to bite my tongue about 2016. It started when David Bowie died on January 10th. (By the way, this post is not about dead celebrities.) Then Alan Rickman, God love him, died on January 14th. And the… Continue reading I’m finally ready to talk about 2016
It's kind of funny that because I pinned a picture of Saint Gertrude (patron saint of cats) to my Spirit and Dust board, Pinterest keeps suggesting more cat pictures. (I tried to embed a Pinterest widget to display here but gave up trying. So here's a link to the board, instead.) P.S. If you want to get… Continue reading Spirit and Cats
One of Clinton's many uphill battles as a woman competing in a male dominated field is that men have a dress code—their biggest decision is their tie: power red or reassuring blue. Women have a dress code, too, but it's a subliminal one, unspoken and byzantine in its sociological complexity.