I’ve been holding out…

I’m trying to avoid the living room.

Why?

Because the Last Kid Standing is reading my book, and there is little more terrifying than watching someone read your book.

Let me back up…

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I’ve been working on this book for a goodly long time. Well, a few books, but one in particular has been simmering along on the campfire for a number of years.

It’s called Topography (many thanks to my Writing Saras, my oldest literary partners in crime, for inspiration on the working title). It’s a memoir-ish thing, though the term ‘memoir’ is my least favorite genre moniker ever.

Anyhoo, I came through the third whole round of revisions this spring, and decided it was finally time to get some outside eyes on it.

***Insert Screaming Here***

Yes, my writers’ group and my Saras would be the natural first stop for said manuscript, but this one, being memoir-ish, must first go to those most directly implicated within the pages.

The eldest of my womb, down yonder in Milwaukee, got a 2-week head start on the reading/fact-checking/critiquing/offering (she was the most directly directly implicated). She’s been reading and taking notes for a fortnight, and today the last grain of sand dribbled through the narrows of her clock.

The draft hath been unleashed upon her sisters twain. (Also their father, whenever he makes it home from work, but it will likely take him the better part of the summer to read it.)

So today the Last Kid Standing comes home from nannying and reaches into the box, where she knows she will find a copy of Topography, the very thing she’s been waiting on for weeks (months. years.) And now she’s out there reading it. Like it’s a book or something.

I should back up a little more…

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Back in the days of yore, before the pandemic ravaged the world, we the writers got together every month or so, and we critiqued each others pages. Mostly we laughed. But we also did serious things like write and read.

And a cool thing that one of my not-Sara writing ladies taught me back in the good old days is that Amazon is a snazzy way to get a nice, printed version of your book, all bound and everything, even if you’re still knee-deep in drafts. Brandy was a self-publishing monster, so she took the Amazon game all the way to market, but what we learned in the process is that you can also pretend to self-publish, order yourself Proof copies for a steal, and never actually send anything down the pipe to actual publication. Honestly, I’d pay more in paper and ink to print out a few copies than I did sending it off for proof copies.

Hence, the kid in the living room is reading an actual book with my actual name on it.

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So you see, now, why I’m holed up in the office, right? Sarah’s in there reading my book, Rachel’s across the state, reading my book, Emily is, for all I know, reading my book to her traveling sweetheart, and soon, Scott will be home, and probably reading my book.

What’s a girl gotta do to escape herself around here?

Deep Breath.

Seriously, it’s kind of fun to think that I’ve made it this far. I am certain that there are many revisions ahead, but just getting to the point where I uploaded and printed the whole damned thing was pretty exciting.

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What else?

Well, it wouldn’t be a 2021 post without a PI Update…

The poison ivy is still out there, literally flapping it’s poisonous little tongues at me whenever I walk by.

And the eye?

Things ain’t good with the eye.

I shall spare you pictures, because things have progressed, and I look much like I got in a bar fight at this point. It is rather how I feel as well.

It itches like mad and it burns like crazy when administering the Sarna, or the aloe, or the new kid on the block: hydrocortisone, or even, sadly, the shower. It has been mostly swelled shut for 2 days, and the eyelid swelling is now drooping into a lovely little paunch below the eye as well. I expect bruising by morning. When I take the stairs I can feel multiple parts of my face flapping like a basset hound.

As soon as enough peripheral vision returns for me to drive I will be visiting the nearest poison shoppe and purchasing some good old fashioned weed killer. The big guns. With the little pressurized spray can and the long wand and the hideous toxins unleashed upon the earth. You know how I love the toxins.

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Oh, and LOOOOK:

Look at all the little babies!!! You have to look close, but see all the little pips shooting out about to spread through the earth? Oooh, they’re so happy out there!

And what of the kid that gave me those lovely Hen and Chicks? The one who was stranded in North Carolina after being stranded in Montana? Well, she and the boy limped that Honda home form Asheville this weekend with only 3rd, 4th, and 5th gears, and 3rd only when it wasn’t too grumpy. No 1st or 2nd. No reverse. They are professionals. They are back in Wisco, and the hunt for a new vehicle is about to begin. I feel for the kid. Screwed all around, she was. Sigh.

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Alrighty. That is all.

If you’d like to thank me for not posting any more pictures of my disfigured face, there’s a tip jar around here somewhere…

If you need me, I’ll be resting that eye. Again.
KJ