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I'm here in Charleston to do a workshop about why BOOK TWO is, in some ways, more difficult and more important than BOOK ONE. My topic was roughly titled "second books and second contracts: why they are important to an author." It was fun talking to the writers who are at different levels of their career, giving insight on how the "second" manuscript wasn't just a second book, or a middle book, or a "set-up to the finale" book. It was also interesting to discuss about contracts because I feel many authors don't share the process enough and many newer writers are more or less in the dark when it comes to what is in a publishing contract.
Everything went super well and the trip has been very nice except for one detail. Someone keyed both sides of my beautiful Lexus convertible ;-(. All along the door and front fenders. It's going to cost me quite a lot of money, I'm sure, to get the scratches and repainted. I've recently changed insurance company, and sure don't feel like seeing my rates go up.
It's painful to look at my beautiful baby all scarred up too. The strange thing about this is, that was my reward to myself after getting my second contract with my publisher. Because the second contract meant that I was "established." That my publisher thought that I was good enough to keep in their stable. So I bought my dream car and loved it.
And now some walking piece of human garbage has decided that it was fun to run his keys along the sides of my car. Not one side. BOTH. I am angry. The words running in my head aren't exactly print-worthy, and since I'm not at home, but with other people at a beach house, I have to ruthlessly bottle everything inside. It's killing me! Because, if I were home, I would have screamed and cursed, and frightened all the mutant poms into hiding.
So this is what Jed must feel like, inside, if you're wondering.
NO NEED TO CLICK TILL I TELL YA: RESERVED FOR NOT SAFE FOR WORK STUFF
