Goodie.
I ask the little, beady-eyed fellow, “What the heck are you doing here?
Nothing bad has happened in my writing career?”
Fists on his bony hips, grotesque tiny noggin cocked arrogantly to its
side, he replies, “You almost got it right, lady. Almost.” He snorts out a
disgusting little giggle that is more snot than actual snort. “Nothing has
happened in your writing career. Nothing. Good or bad, it don’t matter. You’re
just treading water, going nowhere.” The gremlin grins, “So, here I am!”
Crap.
The creepy runt is right.
I’m treading.
Moving nowhere while I’m just hanging out waiting.
Waiting on word from the literary agent. (A perfectly acceptable and
expected wait. That’s just part of the “game.”)
Waiting on Writhe’s publication…
“Bullseye, lady!” The gremlin interjects with a bit too much
excitement. “That’s why I’m here. Writhe. What are you going to do, huh?
What the freaking frak are you going to do about that?”
*hangs head down and sighs*
Good question.
It’s been 2 months and 1 week since I turned Writhe in to the
publishing house, a publishing house that has always, ALWAYS, released my
previous 14 novels within 2 to 3 weeks of my deadline. More troublesome yet is
that they haven’t updated their website in weeks. Their book of the day has
been the same book of the day for over 3 weeks…
The gremlin waves and heads for the door. “My job here is done. Have a
great day, lady!”
Yeah, a great freaking frak day.
Until tonight…
Chloe
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