Ink

My writer pals know: it takes a lot of work and patience to get to be a published writer. Tons of rejection, self-doubt--all while we look to that day when things finally come together.

Twitter pal Don Lafferty posted this link of literary tattoos the other day, which reminded me of my idea of celebrating my Book Deal Someday. I was going to get a tattoo. The Dixie Chicks did it for each of their albums, and I thought that was cool. And I'm a cool chick that way, right?

Well, uhm. Yeah. As it turns out, I'm not really all that cool of a chick--I'm more of a chicken, honestly. I celebrated my book deal with beer and pizza, at home. And I liked it that way.

When you're waiting for that day when you can count yourself among the published, you think it'll be all different once you're there. But it really isn't. I'm still working, just like before, writing, plotting, and wondering if it's any good. And I'm still not all that adventurous. Still not cool enough for a tattoo. I leave the adventure to my guy Lincoln Baker, while I sit in my office, cat on lap, snack at the ready.

I'll save that tattoo for when I sell a million books or something. I'm sure I'll be much cooler by then...