No, not mine. It's been there, done that. But, I got this book the other day from a friend who has a friend of the author and I was interested in the novel, which she, Jill Sayre, self-published. It's called The Waiting Womb. I went to her website here at: The Waiting Womb but there's no way to contact Jill Sayre, the author (whom I mistakenly referred to as Julie but that's the main character's name, so sorry, Jill) from there. You need your email address on your website!!!
Now your publicist (aka husband) posted on my site about your book, which is way weird since I already have your book. So, you see where I'm getting? Me neither, but email me so we can 'chat' about pregnancy books, and the frustrations of getting published. OK? OK. Thanks.
Other Manic News:
Hubby was away on a biz trip this past week, and of course, I couldn't tell you because then all the stalkers and wanna-be-Manic lovers would have found a way to my home to express their undying love for me, or perhaps, murder me when my spouse was not here. Fortunately, I now know how to set my house alarm, so we slept safely and securely. And no, husband is never going out of town again, so that was your one and only chance to stalk/profess your love/or murder me. Sorry pals.
Anyway, he went out of town, and when he does, or rather, did because as I mentioned above, he will no longer ever be traveling and leaving me alone, because then I might do some serious damage to the children by stuffing their faces with either sugared cereal for dinner or Happy Meals.
We went out the night before he went out of town, and I guess I'm a superstitious kinda gal, and in the back of my head, it's always, "What if the plane goes down and I never see him again" or "What if he realizes I am really a freak and he's better off staying in the West Coast?"... so, we went out, and then came home and then, uh... had amazing you-know-what. You.Know.What. But I can't actually say what You-Know-What is because my mother reads this blog. But you know what I mean. Anyway, that was nice, cuz when he left the next day, I was like basking in the afterglow, and thinking, "OK, if he kicks it, at least we ended on a high note."
Sick thinking, huh?
Well... he got back safely, and NOOOOO, we didn't You-Know-What in order to commemorate his safe homecoming, but we discovered we both have the same What-If thoughts when he goes away.
This a.m. I noticed he was drinking out of the coffee cup he had left in the bathroom the morning he went out of town.
Me: "Did you know I left that cup upstairs when you were gone, in case you died, I'd have the last coffee cup you drank out of. I'm superstitious that way."
Him: "Yeah, I did see that it was still upstairs when I got home."
Me: "And did you know that whenever you go away, I purposely do not wash all of your dirty clothes in case you die, then I have something left of you that I can sniff and smell you?" (Minus the dirty underwear--there's no way I'm sniffing those suckers!)
Him: "Well, did you notice that when I left, I kept those new shirts from Nordstrom's in the bag in the closet?"
Him: "Well, I figured the same thing kind of... that if I went down in a ball of flames, and didn't remove the tags and throw them away, then at least you'd be able to return the shirts and get back the $130."
I love that we're so in sync that we think this drastically insanely alike!
And obviously, I am feeling much better than the tragic post from last night. I took one of my "depression naps" that my college roommates still groan over when we rehash the old days -- the kind of nap where I'm buried underneath hoping for death, and I slept for two hours. When I woke at 6:37 and glanced at the clock, I had no idea if it was Monday or Friday, or whether it was AM or PM. Then, hubby delivered me a dozen yellow roses cuz he knew I was sad.
[The rejection came Friday, and Friday is Dollar-Rose-Day at the place by our house, so I guess I should be thanking the editor that I wasn't rejected on a Tuesday, or I would be rejected and flower-less!]
I then went to Dairy Queen with two-thirds of the kids, got a vanilla ice-cream DOUBLE-DIPPED in butterscotch, and felt much, much better.
Today, I walked to the healthclub, did yoga, got coffee with a friend who I think has completely NO IDEA that I am a writer, then we walked home. Went to lunch at Jimmy John's where I ate a Turkey Tom with avocado spread and salt-n-vinegar chips.
We are going out tonight to celebrate the occasion where you can only drink green beverages. Isn't that great? !!?! Because, we all know what my favorite beverage is, right? And it just so happens to be the most perfect color in the world:
So, hoping for more writing to surge through my veins, so I can get this next book formulated onto the screen. There is so much of it simmering in my brain, it's ready to spill out. I just need to find the time to splash it onto the screen. I've got the beginning figured out, I've got the characters dreamed up. I even have the final line written.
Time. I need that, and then it'll get done.
But for now, I'm not thinking crappy thoughts. Nope, I'm thinking...
A P P L E T I N I !
PS... Geeze, if a therapist was analyzing last night's post and this one, there is no way in hell he would think it was the same, exact person writing them. Maybe this proves that I really am truly Manic!?