I would really love - you have no idea how much I would love - to type three little letters here.
Really.
Really, really love.
CIA.
Maybe when I’m 70 and have come to terms with deserting my begonias. (It’s a Mrs. Pollifax thing. If you haven’t read the books, you probably think I’m crazy right now.)
However. No, sadly, my search has nothing to do with the CIA. Or at least it doesn’t yet. Who knows? They could become involved later on.
What I’m really doing right now in present time in this world is searching for a publishing company. To, you know, publish. Because of last month's announcement. Travá. The manuscript that's gotten all super official now and earned itself a slash above the last a. Mostly because I kept hearing family members say "Trav-uh?" (Kayla!), and a slash was a good way to make things less confusing.
Since the publishing search is filling up a rather large part of my computer time at present, this blog could quickly turn into an unfortunate rant of pent-up frustrations from all my as-of-yet-un-received rejection letters. (I’m trying to be realistic and bracing myself for the worst.)
Or I could go off radar and get so disappointed, I just stop writing entirely.
I’m not really sure which.
I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
(Oh, in the event that the third option happens and I rise to fame overnight, you should probably request a copy of my autograph now before I start charging.)
Welcome to the incoherent ramblings of a wannabe author.
(Make yourself a member up in the right-hand corner and be one of the first to read, “ACK! I’m published!! Now what????”)
