Puzzles, dogs, and tree moss.

Today has been an incredibly relaxing day, aside from the stupid puzzle I got sucked into that will never get finished. I just want to start on my new donut puzzle, but I can’t until I finish this ice skating rink disaster that’s taking over my dining room table.

I can’t just leave it because I’m trying this new thing called finishing what I start. Maybe you remember me talking about it a few weeks ago? Well, puzzles are my little way of getting better at that, one piece at a time.

There’s also a dog staring at me right now. My roommate is dog sitting for a friend, but right now she’s at work, and I made the mistake of letting out the barking puppy in the hopes she would be quiet. Instead she’s using this time to stick her wet nose all over my freshly-showered self. I’m trying not to make eye contact, because every time I do, it’s like an invitation to come gnaw on some other bone that’s still attached to my body.

But for this brief moment the house is silent, and I’m just going to let her jump on the other couch, because it means she isn’t jumping on me.

And I spoke too soon. She just decided this couch looked better.

Now she’s eating moss off of my fake tree. But at least she’s quiet.

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Why is it that when dogs have tons of toys lying all over the floor they want to play with the one thing that is not meant for them? They are like children, except they bite. Oh wait…

And now she’s eating the chair. I give up.

So this weekend I met two local authors who self-published their books. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t look down on self-publishing. I know quite a few successful authors who self-published, it’s just not the route I want to go. One author I met was very sociable in an annoying way and the other just sat at his table. They were at two different bookstores, by the way.

The obnoxious lady-author kept calling people “young man” or “young lady” and asking them stupid questions like if they were getting into trouble. One, no one likes a brown noser. And two, please just leave me alone. No I don’t want to read your romance novel, and no I don’t really want your card.

She mentioned that she normally writes spy thrillers. People asked for a romance novel, and it’s selling better than anything else she’s written. If it takes your audience telling you what kind of writer you should be, rather than discovering that yourself, I’m not sure I want any advice you’d like to give me.

The other guy was quiet, non-invasive. Not saying that’s the better way to be, but I was more inclined to ask him about his book than to have Ms. Too-Much-Perfume shoving her book in my face. He wrote a book on his life as a coal miner, and while that’s not really my thing, I respected his work more. He was honest, he was direct, and he wasn’t trying to butter me up into making a sale.

That was another thing. The one lady was trying to use her autograph as an incentive to buy the book. I’m sorry, but your signature is not a selling point unless you’re JK Rowling, so don’t even try it. Keep it on your checks, not in my books.

Overall I tried to avoid them both. I’m not sure what that says about me as a writer, but I don’t feel like I missed out from the conversations. Of course I may regret that one day when someone I don’t talk to is someone I should have. But I think for this weekend, I’m safe on that count.

 

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