And she’s not singing yet. Just humming a little.
A Facebook questionnaire asks my favorite quotation and I answer, “Patience is a virtue” to which the response is, “Cannot find the author.” Well, neither can I, and I can’t think of another wise saying that makes much sense to me, at the moment, at least.
Now I have another, and again I don’t know its source.
Last night a friend called and said that The Solarium she bought was pocked with 0’s wherever a quote mark or a apostrophe should be, making the page look a little like a coded message to a Second World War espionage caper. I didn’t goof this time. Kindle did, right after we agreed I had a perfect copy, picture and all, to sell. All I admit to is a moment or three of basking in the pride of producing a gorgeous thing. I was reminded of giving birth, only without the diapers. I sent messages to people. It’s here!
Perfect, except for embedded coded messages.
I write the obligatory email to Kindle beginning with, “Mi god! What have you done?”
And I drink a little Scotch and go to sleep. ”Pride goeth before the fall” is the last thought that passes across me.
This morning I awake to yellow light at the window. Sun. So what. I still have a damaged story I won’t want to let anyone I know buy. And worse yet, Kindle hasn’t responded to my plea. I’m pretty sure that Kindle is a machine, not a human, even if it calls itself Violet in its notes to me. Too busy with other pleas. Many pleas. I’m sure I’m not the only one.
I walk the dog in the sunny morning. He seems pleased that after days of avoidance I finally have recognized his heavy breathing at my feet and get the message. Out. He can almost say “out,” but I haven’t been listening lately. Lucky he also has a father figure who has filled in.
Picking up dog-do is not usually inspiring, but somewhere between the plastic bag and the “Good dog, Willie” I come to the realization that like my old-man dog, I need to take control. By the time I get home I decide I do not need a picture in my book. People who have already read it with or without a picture do not seem to care. What I need is a clean copy of my story. I erase the corrupted copy, republish a readable one, and, pouring a glass of Sauvignon blanc, murmur, “ It ain’t over. . . .”
Anyone know who said this? I could use it on my Facebook page, if I can find it again.