Per usual, I stopped at about noon to eat lunch before heading to work. That’s cutting it pretty close, but hey, my mornings are for writing, not lollygagging (wow, according to Word that’s actually how you spell “lollygagging”). I put some potatoes on to “bake” (nuke), and then went back down through my office, which has the back exterior door to my herb garden. I wanted some fresh thyme to put on my baked potatoes, because I’m hoity toity and highfalutin.
As I opened the exterior door, the inner door to my office slammed shut. Thinking nothing of it, I headed out, clipped my thyme then came back in. However, when I tried to go from my office into the house, the door handle spun in my hand. And spun. And spun.
Then the microwave sounded the melodious news that my potato was done. I thought about knocking down the door. I honestly did. But I decided to try to slip something between the doorjamb and try to pop the latch. But there was nothing in the room both slim and solid enough. So, once again, I thought about knocking the door down. But because the door opens into the room, I literally would have had to knock it down, not just break the latch. I’ve done it once before, pushed a door out the wrong way, during a night terror. The frame went with it.
I hadn’t eaten yet, just had coffee. So I was especially angry due to low blood sugar. However, the thought came to me that the hinges were on my side, so I popped the door off its hinges.
What closed that door in the first place? Some people will say it was air pressure. I’m one of those people.
But it was the ghosts, telling me to continue writing their tale. And I said, Screw you ghosts. I’m really hungry.
Do you have a Goodreads account? If so, you should follow this link to The Hoard’s page, scroll down and click the “Enter to Win” button. You might win an advanced review copy. If I get as famous as my mom says I will, it will be worth a lot of money one day. I can even imagine a Citizen Ryker type situation where I’m on my deathbed. My simple dream of being an author has turned into a soul-crushing series of compromises and disillusionments, and the ARC of The Hoard has become my rosebud, reminding me of simpler days when the world still contained magic.
I can imagine then offering you millions of dollars for your ARC. Now, I can’t guarantee this outcome, but I’d say there’s a 97% chance. So go try to win one!