Ways in which real writing life is not like Castle: until just now, I had actually forgotten that I had a book debut today. No glitzy launch parties, nobody offering me a bosom (throbbing or otherwise) to sign, no staking out Barnes & Noble to see if anybody is buying my book.
Definitely no huge standup at the front of the store, and not even a congratulatory email from my agent or editor.
Business as usual, in other words. I poked at Grail, the current book, which I am a little stuck on. I watched some tv and I baked parsnip muffins to deal with the lurking parsnips from the CSA. I made dinner. I washed dishes.
I totally forgot I had a book out today. (I also forgot it was garbage day, but fortunately my roomie did not.)
I got my copies a couple of weeks ago, and have already cooed over them and taken the requisite photos:
It is pretty, isn’t it?
But how, you ask, could you have missed out on the fact that it’s book day, Bear? What kind of an idiot are you?
Sigh.
The kind of idiot who is 311 pages into the sequel, which is due on Tax Day.
One of the sad things about the writer life is how little time one gets to revel in one’s successes. By the time the book is out, the next book is due; by the time the reviews start coming, you’ve forgotten what the hell you wrote. By the time book day comes, it slips past under the radar, all but unnoticed.
And then what on earth do you do?
Forget it’s book launch day, and bake parsnip muffins for your room-mate, instead.
I am really excited for this book.
Inspiring. Congratulations…I guess?
Congratulations, Elizabeth. And for what its worth, more often than not I can’t recall what day it is when I wake up in the morning.