Selfie

I started writing a post about grammar blunders—and included one of my own that a “fan” felt the need to point out in a condescending email full of pomposity and convoluted sentences. And I’m not talking about those lovely labyrinthine sentences either. I’m talking sentences that made me go, “Say wha??” (Yeah, not even a “t” on the end of that.) . . . Ohhhh, will it make you laugh your ass off. However, I’ve had to set aside my blog writing (along with my much more important novel writing) to tackle the ten trillion projects I have going on in my house. So there’s a bullshit teaser for you. You have to WAIT for the condescending email and my thoughts on grammar + writers + editors + proofreaders.

My family is visiting for Christmas. Yay! They haven’t stood on Georgia red clay in several years. Lame. Now that they’re coming, I kind of need to have a kitchen ceiling (which is currently missing) as well as, you know, cabinets and working bathrooms. I could show you pictures, but my husband would kill me for sharing shots of the inside of our house. He’s very private. I get it. There are lunatics out there. I’m not thinking any of my followers are, but then I did receive that email . . .

So I’ll be gone for the next two months. And I want you to miss me. I used to wonder why Selena Gomez, Rihanna, Justin Beiber, and Kim Kardashian posted pictures of themselves nonstop. And I mean nonstop. If you ever pick up celeb magazines, which I’m wont to do from time to time, these are the only four celebs I ever see/read about. Then the light bulb went off, albeit a little late, but in my defense, my brain’s been a little jumbled lately with the mess that is my house. Anyway, they post incessantly about themselves to stay relevant. Duh. It must be exhausting, really, getting that perfect selfie (after fifty shots) and then actually posting it . . . with a caption that reads something like, “Life” or “Being.” Haha! Doesn’t it make you cringe? I cringe. And I love it. I oughta be doing this! Especially now that I’ll be absent (again). I tend to do that a lot—just fall off the edge of the earth for a while until I feel like I actually have something important to share with you all.

Okay, so here’s my version of a selfie. That’s how desperate I am for you to remember me and think I’m important in this overly crowded, slush pile of a literary world:

I have a book in the works that’s gonna blow your mind. You think Going Under was intense. Pffsst. Child’s play. Child’s play, people. My current story is on an entirely different level. Intense themes? Check. Cringe-worthy moments? Check. Controversy? Check. “Oh, hell no!” moments? Double check. Add in racing hearts, sweaty palms, “I don’t want to turn the page,” and “Summer, you bitch!!” moments, and you’ve got yourself my next big deal. Now, go out there and start sleuthing. See if you can discover any more tidbits. If someone comes back here with details I didn’t share, I’ll know one of my Summertime Girls squawked, and there will be a price to pay.

Oh, what the hell. Here’s an actual selfie, too. I took it after applying fake eyelashes for a night out. Like my so-very-thoughtful caption?

Windows into the soul.