I used to watch other people get published and then tweet the living crap about it on Twitter, and then I’d think God, I want to be them.
Because somewhere in my damaged brain, I had already reconciled with the fact that they were no longer human beings but gods of the universe who were given trained aliens on their publication date and these aliens would cook, clean, do the laundry, massage their feet and DVR Property Brothers for them while they were free to pleasantly market their new book.
But then I’ve suddenly become one of these gods of the universe, and as hard as I’ve searched for my aliens, the only thing I’ve found is a chewed up Lego and a tiny piece of bacon covered in dog hair.
Seriously. who cleans this place?
Instead of basking in the beautifully neon glow of an extraterrestrial, this is my godforsaken schedule on any given day:
- Wake up. Wonder why they canceled Who’s The Boss for fifteen minutes and then turn off my alarm. With my fists.
- Put on clothes. Or my bath towel from the night before and my “I Got Crabs at Joe’s Crabshack” baseball cap. No one will notice.
- Receive a tiny flying shoe in the face while walking down the hallway. Remember I have offspring.
- Make offspring breakfast. Kids like bran, right? Right.
- Listen to twenty minutes worth of screaming. Realize it’s coming out of my mouth.
- Step in poop. Remember I have dogs.
- Put on my make up, or as I like to call it, “You were sixteen once…hahaha!” Then cry for seven minutes.
- Watch a performance consisting of show tunes and random bouts of jazz hands. Remember I have a husband.
- Take offspring to school. Make friends on the highway with my horn.
- Try to trick the other parents at child’s school into believing I’m a tiny gnome from the future. Pretend not to be concerned when they believe me.
- Go home.
- Stare at computer.
- Push buttons.
- Prank call my grandmother.
- Do the dishes and berate them for being dirty.
- Pet the clothes in the laundry basket and say things to them like “If only you had legs and didn’t live here.”
- Pick up child from school. Avoid glances from the school psychologist.
- Go home and play game with child where I have no idea what I’m doing. Name it “life.”
- Make dinner with my mind.
- Put child to bed with a kiss and an interpretive dance based on my latest manuscript.
- Stare at husband’s head in that cute way I do.
- Sleep with eyes open.
You guys, I’m tired, I’m cranky and I’m flat out of aliens. But I’m working my ass off so my book will be READ.
Forget sales, forget curling up into Oprah’s lap while she pats my head (I’m just kidding. I could never forget something like that.), forget being what I think a published author SHOULD be.
I’m here to give you words, to change your mind, to free your heart. And I pray to God/Tony Danza, that I’ve done you justice.
Now if you don’t mind, there’s a head that needs staring at.
Look at what I did! Now you can pre-order the Kindle version of my novel, Unkept, here: http://amzn.com/B00SM090XI All the proceeds will go towards glittering cats. You have my word.