Linger: Today More Than Last Night

I had a very long day yesterday, so when I arrived home after almost twelve hours, I was surprised to see the package sitting on my desk that I had all but forgotten was due to arrive.

I hurriedly opened it, so excited to see what was inside. There, in my hands, was the proof copy of LINGER, the first book I wrote, the book closest to me personally. Tears pooled; my heartbeat sped. To be honest, I didn't think this book would necessarily ever be published, but there it was, with my husband's beautiful cover design, and all 80,000 of my words inside.

I marveled, I cried some more. I opened it and read random pages. All the while, barely able to breathe.

When I woke this morning, there it was still, sitting on my nightstand. I picked it up, and looked through it again. I looked at the front cover, and the spine, and the back cover. Again, tears. Even more than last night. 

I called my friend Tommie and asked her if she was at the bookstore she owns today. She said she would be there this afternoon. She asked if I needed to stop by, and I told her it was more that I wanted to. You see, she was one of the first readers of LINGER. Her opinion and counsel meant so much to me. I want her to be one of the first to see it. It may seem silly to her, but this is more for me than for her.

Another friend, Vicki, stopped by. When I see Vicki's number appear on the called ID, when I know she is reading one of my books, I can predict with certainty, that when I answer, I will hear the sound of tears in her voice. Because she cries at everything, and especially everything I write. They're not always sad tears, sometimes they're happy ones.

When she held LINGER in her hands, I saw her eyes fill with tears. Just as mind had. Can you imagine how that made me feel as an author? Indescribable.

The other thing Vicki and I did, was enter LINGER in the Pikes Peak Writers Zebulon contest. This is the first book I've entered in this particular writer's contest, and the first contest I've entered LINGER. The fact that I entered it the morning after I received the author's proof is significant to me.

Today I am feeling the emotional significance of this book even more. I cry randomly. I'm not working today. In fact, in a few minutes Frank and I will leave for Denver, where we'll spend the day together before going to Red Rocks in Morrison, for the Kings of Leon concert. It will be a very special night, complete with early access, VIP passes and fourth row seats. We love all three of the bands performing tonight, KONGOS, Young the Giant, and those heart-wrenchingly, swoon-worthy Followill boys. 

At each significant occurrence in the process of becoming an author that I began a little over two years ago, I have made a point of recognizing, documenting, and savoring every one. Today is extra special to me, and I'm so thankful I get to take the day off work, spend it with one of my favorite people on the planet, and . . . linger in the moment.

You’d Have to Live in a Cave

Frank and I are going to see Kings of Leon on Wednesday. You’d have to live in a cave . . . well maybe not a cave, but you’d have to not have read a single thing I’ve written on Facebook or Twitter since . . . uh, April, to miss that juicy tidbit.

So I’m pretty obsessed with them, have been since Mechanical Bull came out. Before that I liked them, but MB started the official obsession-phase.

We have seats in the second row, or the fourth row, but not further than that. In the middle. And we have parking (at Red Rocks, who knew?), and VIP passes, which get us in early, and some other stuff . . . like free drinks.

I hope not to drool when I see Caleb Followill. Or I hope he is not as hot in person as he is . . . everywhere else. And if I do drool, I hope Frank will overlook it. And not ever remind me of it, for the rest of my life. 

I’m not sleeping wonderfully these days . . . my to-do list is miles long and the minute I cross something off, the damn thing repopulates. BUT on Wednesday, to-do lists will be damned.

A Bluebird Colorado Day

When the sun is shining and the ski is blue, I want to be outside. Who doesn’t? I long to feel the breeze and sun on my face, hear birds singing and children laughing. My body begs to go for a long walk, and get my heart rate up. 

And at the same time, I want to write. Filled with guilt. About both.