I love autumn… the smell of woodsmoke as you drive through a foggy evening, the unremitting 
wind and virtual desertion of the bike trails, the early sundown, the brilliant big silver coin moon, the urge to fix soups and knit huge projects (or else get a cat — anything to have something furry and warm on the lap), and invent new squash pies… I love the bread baking — yesterday, we had a barley loaf with a few caraway seeds and some cumin, surprisingly, that turned out to be out of this world. It’s the best time of the year, and usually I start planning spa days and pondering which location in the state has the best hot tub. However, with my hives/eczema/whatever-this-rashy-crap-is spreading all over me — now onto both sides of my face — I’m not sure I should be taking the waters, unless they come with benadryl and calomine afterwards. I’d like to say that this is the result of great excitement from the world of publishing, or even major aggravation from overexposure to Silly Sibling, but I’m afraid it’s just the more pedestrian concerns of a new (glycerine!?) soap. Since there’s no drama in that, I’ll just say it’s because I need a vacation.
You may well wonder, after all the fuss last week, what the newest buzz is on the Writing Thingie. Well, I wonder too. I haven’t heard from S.A.M. since that Fateful Phone Call, which he followed up by a congratulatory email the next day… He hasn’t heard from our editor, and the offer is still immaterial.
After all of this, it would be quite embarassing if it turned out that the publishing company was only kidding. However, publishing notoriously does not have a sense of humor… so, I’ve sold the book, it’s just a matter of waiting until everyone’s ducks are in a row for the signing to take place, and the money to flow.
Other people are already planning their Halloween outfits, but I’ve skipped right on to Thanksgiving. I want to rent a beach house somewhere and build big fires and read — somewhere other than at home. That sounds like a good use of money, no? Meanwhile, I have floor samples coming. Yes. That was the first thing I did, upon finding out that I sold a book. I ordered floor samples, and had dreams about the carpet being torn out. (Freud could discuss the psychology of this, but we will refrain.) Suffice it to say that I’ve already spent that advance money six times, in my mind…
It’s funny – it’s considered quel gauche for writers to talk about money — as if we only suffer this way for our art… Hm! Yet, another YA blogger/author this week was in shock that his first novel (for a two-book contract) produced a bidding war that went way up there into the stratosphere. He was ecstatic and then had a friend remind him how excited he felt at the first offer for the first amount. “Remember that,” he was advised. It’s always good to have perspective, especially about the money… there are quite a few people I haven’t mentioned the sale to, because they’re just silly enough to believe that I am now rich. Hah! A couple of people have even been half-asking me about my advance. Which I can’t help but this is a bit… much! I’m not prepared to discuss with anyone any dollar amounts, thank you, but my agent swears it’s “decent,” so I’m prepared to take his word for it, stop talking about it, and get back to work. Eventually. Once I get the flooring samples…