Sheila's Guests and Reviews

I got a book in the mail the other day. It's title was "This Book Needs A Title." I read a poem in the poem with the same title. And I pondered, what's a title there for anyway. The author has now produced TBNAT 2. Meanwhile I struggle to write, struggle to get my publishers to release anything, and struggle to catch up with book reviews. The writing's fun - it's just a pain being squished into an ever-shrinking corner of an ever-more-cluttered bedroom when I HATE CLUTTER! (Pause while I dream of dry redecorated basement, maybe by Christmas if I'm lucky, but hey, I'm pretty lucky to even have a basement. Why am I complaining?) Pushing publishers to publish is less fun - my publishers tend to have babies, get sick, get overwhelmed, and even close their doors - please don't close your doors, PRETTY PLEASE! But the book reviewing is always fun and doesn't tie me to that cluttered bedroom. If it's a real book (the sort that can come in the ma...

As part of out last writers' group meeting we responded to a prompt which asked us to imagine ourselves ten years from now. We each had to write at least three paragraphs, including 5 published book titles, 3 awards and 3 authors that we'd like to be compared to. Afterwards we were invited to read out what we'd written, but only one volunteered. I thought I was pretty good at writing exercises. I can usually think of something for almost any prompt. But not this one--this was treading on my dreams. I don't want to "imagine" myself ten years hence; I'd only put myself in places I don't want to be. But I don't want to voice my dreams either or it might be an invitation for them to fail. Still I did learn that there's lots of awards out there that I've never heard of. And only two of us elected to imagine we won the Nobel Peace Prize. Me, I picked ???, ??, and ? as my imaginary prizes. I couldn't have read it out loud if I'd tried.