My car was stolen on Wednesday. The car I'd been paying extra on for the last six months so I could pay it off early (would've been finished in March). The car with my husband's biggest Christmas present stashed in the trunk. The car containing my favorite cardigan and not one, but TWO of my Glee cds. But what stung the most about the whole experience was that I'd just made a trip to the library, and had 10 books (all new titles, hardcover, that I'd had to request) in the trunk. That pissed me off. That was a violation. The library isn't even going to make me pay for them, but I'm still fuming.
So yes, I guess you can say book are my life. They are my go-to comfort food for the soul. They are my escape, my reward, my daily necessity. Books make me happy. Not just reading them, but writing them, choosing them, and discussing them. Which brings me to what else happend last Wednesday. I was the guest speaker at a book club, where they all had read my first book and were ready to discuss. Oh, the excitement! The heady thrill to be treated like a real author. Don't get me wrong - I adore guest blogging and doing online interviews. The people are warm and responsive. But don't we all dream of sitting at a book signing, surrounded by hundreds of clamoring fans? To lunch at a fancy New York restaurant with an editor and agent? Maybe the heyday for that sort of activity was right around 1968, but a girl can still dream, right? And for one night, surrounded by twelve women who hung on my every word, I lived the dream.
So seek out those opportunities. It may be a slightly different scale than imagined, but it will be deeply rewarding. Hey, it distracted me from thinking about my car for a few hours!