Oh...right-right-right.

Yeah, about that other novel...On the Way to Someplace Else. I was working on it over the fall, I swear I was. And then this other, other novel started writing itself inside my head and squeezing OWSE to the side. Poor OWSE. It's such a beautiful story, if I can indulge a little pride in my work.

Plus, my publicist (okay, it feels really weird to use that word, and it's not nearly as impressive as it sounds, but it's certainly more expedient than the lengthier explanation).

Um....

Right. My publicist wants me to focus on getting a publishing contract, instead of doing these independent, one-off projects. She's pretty smart, so I think she's right.

Which brings me to the fact that today is my birthday (whoa), and my birthday wish: A publishing contract and/or a literary agent. (This is not the same thing as a publicist, for anyone who is wondering.)

Mind you, not much could be better than the totally awesome cowboy boots* that Rodney gave me, but a publishing contract and/or a literary agent would likely come pretty close.

So if anyone knows anyone....

* And what a sneak! I coveted them at the store on New Year's Eve. I figured he had to be up to something, insisting we go to Market Street and walk around that evening, since he is so not the shopper. But it never occurred to me that he was looking for birthday present ideas. Although I do need a boot-horn, if anyone has one of those. You know, maybe alongside the publishing/literary agent contact.