When you are a writer, you spend an inordinate amount of time staring at a blinking cursor wondering why you are such an asshole.
"Self, why are you such an asshole?" you say to the computer screen, which does not respond, but simply stares back at you indifferently.
You wonder if anyone, anywhere is receiving your transmission.
At some point, resident deities look down at you and roll their eyes in pity.
"Would you take a look at this poor effer?" says one resident deity.
"Who can effing stand it?" says another.
"Should we?" says the first.
"Yeah," says the second, opening his shimmering box of magic powder. He sprinkles it here. He sprinkles it there.
And then delivered unto me is *this* and with slackened jaw, I bask in the light of brilliance.
And if that is not enough, from deep within the glistening ether materializes *Vince* leaving this amidst the holy comments on my celestial crab claws.
"I hope this is an appropriate enough place to intrude upon you my personal thoughts, but I am compelled to disclose to you that I read Harvey & Eck from beginning to end with the same eagerness and enthusiasm as your characters must have. And I saw within my self, both Eck and the Hub--and Harvey too. I must admit, that as I read, I remained skeptical that the next pages would not satisfy me. And even as I approached the conclusion, I told myself I would have to mentally re-write the ending to meet my needs. I dare say, I even found myself fearing the neglect of a certain significant object. One I won’t give away out of courtesy for others who have not read your novel yet. But I was wrong on all accounts--and gleefully so.
After I finished the novel, I noticed the words “Women’s Fiction” on the back cover for the first time. But to me, this was a brilliant work of “Men’s Fiction” in more ways than one. A smashing read. A novel that I would feel dignified to have accompany me into any coffee shop despite it’s—how shall I say this?—less conventional cover. Smashing, indeed!"
(Hey, uh, Vince? Um … appropriate? I would have this tattooed on my ass, have said ass photographed and then happily allow the resulting pic to be published on the front page of my local paper under the headline "Erin O'Brien's Tattooed Ass" without so much as one breath of hesitation.)
And, then, dear reader, as joyous tears stream from mine eyes, as I tumble in the glory of it, weeping and clutching the sweet fragrant soil of the earth thinking there is not one more thing--not so much as one more thing that could be gifted upon me, then, oh then dear reader, an angelic voice rains down upon me and there is *this*