Last month, I almost became an agented writer.
I'm going to seriously "nutshell" it, because I've tried to write it many times, and I always end up with my knickers all in a twist. And that's not comfy. Literally and figuratively.
There was an agent who was interested in representing me. And then that agent decided not to be an agent any more.
Of course, there are knicker twisting details that I'm leaving out, but really, when I just stuff it into a nutshell, it doesn't sound so bad.
Okay, it does still sound like total "DOH!". But what can I do? Such is life. Have I spent the last few weeks moping around and feeling like a gigantic loser? Ummm, yeah. Have I seriously considered flushing my computer down the toilet and taking up something much less tumultuous, like stamp collecting or river dancing? Yep. Have I felt like I've lost every single shred of creativity and get a serious case of the icks every time I even consider trying to write something new? Yes and yes.
But it just wasn't meant to be. And that's okay. I have to believe it happened for a reason. Don't get me wrong, the whole thing feels kinda mean spirited, karmically speaking. Almost like the universe hates me just a teeny bit. But I don't really want to believe that. So I won't. I'll assume the universe was looking out for me.
Or the universe is trying to tell me that I shouldn't quit my day job.
But, being a glass half full kind of girl, I'm going to go with option A.
So, it's all good.
You know what else is good? My zombie apocalypse dream team! Please join us. We need more. And I've also decided that I really hope Emeril becomes a zombie and tries to eat me, so I can stab him in the brain with my looted Emeril knife set and say "Bam! Bam! Bam!". Because that would just be downright poetic.
Know what else is good? IN 9 DAYS, I WILL BE IN VEGAS, BABY!!!!
So, the zombie apocalypse has to wait until AFTER I come back.
And if I hit it big, and you're part of the zombie apocalypse dream team, I'll just buy us the Millennium Falcon and we can just bust ass off this rock when the undead try and chew our limbs off. Deal?
