Rampant: The Fourth Book of the Little Goddess Series is n=ow officially on amazon.com.
First, the traditional prayer–and I know you guys keep telling me that it doesn’t, but I’m getting to be really superstitious. Are we all ready?
Holy Goddess, Merciful God, LET IT NOT SUCK! Cannyagimmehallelujia? Amen.
And next, something besides just another link, because I’m sure you’re all tired of those.
The thing is, I’m sort of running on fumes. At the risk of TMI, my body is in the throes of an epic level hormonal plasma dump right now, and in the midst of all that “Holy shit, I’ve got two books coming out and that’s twice the exposure to get my internal organs devoured by mean wolverines disguised as reviewers” angst, I’ve also got, well, an epic level hormonal plasma dump. Yes, I know, normal people call them periods. Normal people also have more than four or five a year, and don’t blow through two boxes of feminine protection in two days. I tell you all, there’s nothing like standing up in front of a classroom of teenagers and thinking, “A-yup. Feminine protection #epic fail.”
So, on top of that, there is also the four hours of sleep a night–I’m angsting in the most ridiculous way.
An example? My editor from DSP (lovely woman–like most of you, I’d give a lot to be able to actually sit down and knit with her, providing she knits) e-mailed me last night to let me know that I made the top ten in overall sales on ARe. It’s gone now, replaced by another title, but apparently what it meant is that consistently, over thirty days, my book outsold everything else on the site. In Elizabeth’s words, that’s “all of Harlequin and 99% of het romance.” And I went, “Uh-oh.”
Yeah, you read that right.
Uh-oh.
I had a sudden attack of angst because, hullo, I was sort of succeeding. I thought, “Oh crap. Will I get a whole crop of different people who think I write quirky and light and who will then destroy me because I really write quirky and angsty, and If I Must was a fluke? Will any of these people read The Little Goddess series and be disappointed?”
It kept me up last night.
But then, so did worry about Promise Rock and Rampant, and all of that other stuff. And I’m thinking now, “Most of these guys have seen me have meltdowns for the past three years, right? Bound, Bitter Moon I, Bitter Moon II–I’ve been riding the angst pony once a year, boiled down in the crucible of dream catching into a vapor of mooncalfing and hamsterwheeling, all because I put out my scant literary offerings into the world and fret over the wrath of angry gods. If anyone will get how weird I’m becoming about having two books out right now on the heels of a third (albeit a short one) the people who read my blog WILL get it.”
Thank Goddess– because I’m about to drive my husband batshit. Even the kids are worried–they actually let me NAP this afternoon, for no other reason than because I looked crazed and broke into tears when one of them did the dishes.
Rampant is out–and I’m going to be haunting the airwaves until it gets its first review (which is no mean feat, since I know amazon will take its sweet fucking time in shipping those puppies out to you–and to me, for that matter.) Promise Rock will be out on Monday, and I’m going to be a basket case, because that one gets professional reviews and holy cats–what if I not only get bagged (bad enough, as you’ve seen me lose my nut over amazon.com) but get bagged by someone with an audience of five-thousand people. Ou-UCH! And even more fun? That interview will hit the airwaves and open up an even wider audience to watch me succeed gloriously or fail with much freaking out and general hilarity.
And you guys, with a front row seat, already have practice scraping me off the ground in a puddle and pouring me back into the mold. Good–it’s a good thing we’ve all had practice with this dance, because I think, just maybe, we’re about to pick up the beat.
