Were I to peek through the blinds just now, outside everything would be spring: flood of sun and warmth and the (not uber-hyped-up social networking site) twitter of lean little birds and an ur-sky, blue, without end, Amen. I never can adequately express how glad of spring's onset that I am. A parole from winter, my rickety body.
And how silent has it been here? Cobwebbed, even. I haven't had much I wanted to say. At some point a blog becomes a chore and then it's best to step away from the blasted thing. But, with the return of clement weather, I fell less interior, less of a layered mind. Let's see what happens.
So much has gone on these last few months, some of it good, some bad, some fleetingly infuriating.
Today word from Ecco on My Index's sales numbers, which were wildly beyond what I would have predicted. Thank you to everyone who has purchased it.
The cost of that success is that Ecco/HarperCollins wants to push up the release of my memoir, One More Theory About Happiness, to May 2010, to coincide with the release of the paperback edition of Index. This was always a possibility, discussed, even, shortly after signing with Ecco. Now it's the real deal, sho nuff, and it's all great, except now I have to very seriously finish the darn thing. No sleep till Brooklyn, I guess. I'm not sure what I mean, except: holy crap, time to buckle down, y'all.
To that end, I've been working on a chapter about the time I got mugged.