So I'm a writer. Obviously. And after about a billion years of writing, or more accurately, twelve years of writing, I finally wrote a novel that didn't suck rhino rocks. I sent it out to an agent that I thought might like it. I sent it out again. I repeated that blasted sending out process about a million and one times, and finally, over a year after I started writing the book, I got an offer from an agent.
And lo, there was much rejoicing.
Unfortunately, I have learned something new about myself during this whole process, and the something is as follows: for me, good writing news and freak weather problems come hand in hand. When the wonder that is my agent called, the sky was blue, birds were chirping happily, and children played on the sidewalk. About fifteen minutes after said phone call, hail the size of nickles pelted down on the sidewalk. I feel really sorry for all the kids and birds, because that stuff had to hurt.
Unfortunately, I was unable to photograph the hail, since my son took my digital camera swimming. Instead, I've recruited some stunt double hail for this photo:
A couple of days later, I spoke to another agent who was interested in me, and once again, moments after hanging up, the skies opened and Zeus started hurling thunderbolts at me. I don't understand what he has against my book, but apparently it's offensive. It may have something to do with all of the testicle references in there, but I'm not sure.
So now, I'm starting to work on edits and getting ready for the whole submitting to editors thing, and I wanted to make sure that you all are up to date with what's happening. Because if you live in Southern Michigan or Northwest Ohio, you've potentially got a problem. I predict a tsunami will occur on the day that someone buys this book. That's right, a big ol' tsunami is going to form right in the middle of the freaking Great Lakes and come for me. Because something tells me that Poseidon doesn't like my testicle references either.