I think 10,000 page views entitles me to a few balloons and some of that stuff that flutters all over the place at ticker tape parades. What the heck is that stuff? Confetti? (Word retrieval problems brought to you by fibromyalgia and CFS, thank you very much.) Of course, a lot of those page views are from my mom and my husband, but I know a lot of them aren't. I love my mom and my husband, but I also love that other people find me interesting.
I've written 330 posts, not counting this one or the ones I wrote about that office that didn't like me so much they made me leave. (I pulled those posts off because I'm decent that way.) I have 46 official followers on google, not to mention all of you nice people who read me through my facebook page. I love each and every one of you. Seriously. I *heart* all of my readers more than you will ever know. And I *heart* each and every comment.
I was reading my blog updates this morning and discovered that Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess) has a memoir coming out in April. Of course, I had to run right over to Amazon and pre-order it in hard copy. I'm kind of hoping for a book tour somewhere in my area so that I can meet this amazing woman in person and get her autograph. And if she wanted to hang out or something, I would totally spend time in the bathroom with her, hiding from the crowds. Anxiety disorders unite!
But my point was going to be that when I saw that Jenny took eleven years to write her memoir and that it is almost due to be published, I got just a little inspired. I figure if someone with mild ADD and access to the internet (her words, which she says is as bad as severe ADD - I have to agree) can spend eleven years writing a book, maybe I can take one (or less) and put something together. I won't be sought out by publishing houses or begged to sign on with anyone. In fact, I suspect that it would have to be a self-published thing, which would mean I would be out on the curb selling lemonade to make enough money for the self-publisher and then hope all of my Facebook friends would buy it.
I ran the title I came up with by Justin and he wasn't so hot on it, but I think it's got real pizazz. It sums up my feelings most days, although I would have liked to have included the "F" word in it. Since I don't want to jinx myself, I'm not going to share quite yet. Things were flowing pretty well and I managed to grind out over 3,800 words before 3:00 this afternoon. Not an insignificant accomplishment.
I went back to Stephen King's book, "On Writing," the best book (in my humble opinion) ever written about how to write and he said that he writes every day, 365 days a year, and doesn't stop until he has cranked out at least 2,000 words. Some days they flow; some days they don't. But he sits down and writes until the words are on the paper, whether they are in the right order or not.
I've been flexing my writing muscle for a little over a year here on this blog. I have made several false starts into the world of book writing, including a couple of stabs at fiction (which really sucked) and a couple of true story books (which also went downhill pretty quick but I might go back and see if they are salvageable), but this is more of a stream of conscious thing and I think since Chapter Two begins with "My dog is an asshole," it really has some merit.
That's the teaser, guys. If I actually get a bunch written, I might be persuaded to share a chapter or two, but we shall see if I can keep pouring my heart out onto my computer screen. I promise no one will get hurt in this process.
Until then, I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you for reading every time I have a thought. You'll never know how much I *heart* you.