Here I am between David Sedaris and Anita Shreve in the wilds of my local Barnes and Noble:
While I was dorking out taking this picture, a nice couple stopped by and asked me if I was the author and I said yes and they read the back of the book and then they bought it and then I signed it. WHOA. (Signing felt like a minor act of vandalism but I guess I’ll get used to it…)
Much stuff has been happening. I got to write guest posts for BookPage and 1st Books: Stories of How Writers Get Started. I’ve been getting lots of blog reviews–I think more than I can keep track of. My favorite cranky review said that I am a bad, smutty writer like that awful DH Lawrence. That is the most wonderful way I’ve been insulted, ever! The crudity of my language is apparently reminiscent of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which was published in 1928–and 13 rue Thérèse is set in 1928, so I feel like I win at life. I managed to capture that 1928 flavor. Sweet.
Of course, the reviews that moved me the most were the good ones where it looked like I connected with the readers. How awesome! It is why I got into this whole publishing racket in the first place. So, to all the people out there who enjoyed my book and got something true out of it, I give you a great big virtual hug.
Meanwhile, to keep myself from exploding with the anxiety of all these developments (it’s all very elating but my body is in an undeniable state of alarm, my brain constantly morse coding out this is… not… normal… commence… freaking out…), I have been writing this random Gothic diptych about dead dogs. I know. Brains are weird. I just finished a draft of Part One today. Tomorrow I will begin Part Two. Oh–and speaking of short stories, I will have one coming out with Five Chapters next week, which will rock my socks. It’s a great website: they publish a new story every week, serially from Monday through Friday, so you can go back every day for new content.
Okay. I am going to go try to not explode. It’s going to be increasingly hard because I got word that my book is going to be in the New York Times Book Review on February 13 and I am absolutely shitting bricks. Please please please be gentle with me, unknown NYTBR reviewer…
(I must develop some kind of emotional coping mechanism for this attention I’m getting. That, or a drug habit. Whoa, you guys, I just explained all of Hollywood to myself.)