It's been almost five years since I shared cover art with you, BUT LOOK AT THIS!!!!!
Do you remember that Disney commercial where the goofy, nasally-kid says, "We're too excited to sleep!" That pretty much sums up how I'm feeling these days. Well, also, I have a cold, but I got it from my adorable two-year-old niece, so it's hard to feel put-out. All virus-delivery systems should be so stinkin' cute.
Here's the full jacket:
Does it make you want to curl up with a cup of cocoa and read it? OHMYGODIHOPESO!!!
Sorry for screaming again. ("I'm too excited to be normal right now!")
I'll post more release details soon. There will also be a Goodreads giveaway in December. And if you're a book blogger/reviewer interested in an early read, send me an email and I'll hook you up with an e-copy the second it's available.
Alright, back to dishes and laundry and grant proposals and life. And writing. Because there's always another story to tell.
Monday, October 08, 2012
Everything in our house is breaking. First, the slow-close hinge in my new bathroom vanity goes all poltergeist on me and explodes off the cabinet door in a fit of rage against the remodeling machine: “You will not have nice things!” Then the toilet downstairs stopped flushing. The flat-screen downstairs has been turning itself on and off, on and off since last week, unable to commit like so many of my old college boyfriends. J’s phone also keeps turning itself on and off, on and off—the tiny, fickle co-conspirator of its large-screened cousin.
Then yesterday, as I was drying my hair, my hairdryer died. It just went kaput, abandoning my hair to air-dry into a cold, crispy mop. J had been gone since the morning, watching football and playing darts and recharging his Testosterone levels. I can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s shopped at Target without me, but it was an emergency. So I called and begged: “Can you please stop on your way home and buy me a new hairdryer? Mine just died and I can’t leave the house.”
Apparently, having wet hair turns me into an agoraphobic.
Because he is awesome, he accepted the challenge. And after a long day of football, darts, and beer, he went to Target with his best friend to buy his wife a new hairdryer. Confusion and hijinks ensued (“No, the electronics are over there!” “But the hair stuff is over here!” “Excuse me, what can you tell me about the specs of these hair dryers?” “Well, does she have curly, thick hair, or fine, straight hair?” “Hehe, which one of you has a case of the frizzies?” “My perm’s been really unmanageable lately…”)
Finally J returned, with my brand new hairdryer and a nice case of the hiccups.
I was pleased but confused. Just the hair dryer? No impulse purchases of any kind? The next part of our conversation went kind of like this:
"I hope this one's okay. It was between this one and one that looked like a giant pink dildo, and I didn't want to be seen with that one."
"No, this is perfect." I inspected it cautiously. "So you just bought the hairdryer? I thought you might also pick up those stick-on bats like we talked about. For the blank wall in the living room."
We’re having a Halloween party in a few weeks, and decorating the house has been an area of concern lately. For me.
J looked at me like I'd asked if he'd mind if I took a dump on the kitchen floor. "S. was with me. I’m not going to drag him across the store to find some goofy Halloween bats."
"I know, but I can't believe you just got the dryer... what would you do if I died?"
I don't remember how I made this leap, exactly. It probably had something to do with the physics of shopping at Target--namely, that no one in the history of the world has ever walked out of there with JUST ONE ITEM. Thus, how would you get any household shopping done if I died?
J laughed, like this was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard. "If you died I wouldn't be decorating the house with bats!!!"
So at least there’s that.
And the endearing image of my husband, hiccupping in the check-out lane at Target with his best friend from high school, buying just a hair-dryer for his frizzy-haired, neurotic wife.