Not long ago I was doing an interview with...someone. I can't remember, okay? Not that I've had a million-zillion interviews lately. I'm just tired and can't remember anything. I called Girl Child "Ginger" last night and she was NOT amused and if I can't remember the name of something I birthed and love, well. There's probably not a lot of hope for me.
The questions are all starting to run together, to be honest. What gave you the idea? A dead animal, a buzzard, and a girl named Lisa who reads my blog. How long did it take you to write it? Less than one month. Are you writing another one? Yes. How many have you sold? I have no idea. What's your next book about? Jason, mostly. And me and what a loser I was.
I don't mind the questions, mind you. I want people to read my book. I know that if people are going to read my book it's not because I'm famous and special and everyone knows me. It's because I do these interviews so people in...I don't know, South Dakota or whatever can hear about me. I get it.
The interviewer caught me off guard when she asked me, "What is the thing you most regret about writing this book?"
I thought about that for a moment. I was going to say something funny. I tend to say funny things, especially when things are hard. I was going to say, "The fear that Denny will find me!" or something.
I said...I spewed forth really, "My blog. The thing that I probably love more than anything in this world. It's changed. It's different. People still read...I know they read. They don't comment anymore. I don't comment other places. I look at the other blogs and see the other people commenting. They used to comment on my website and now they don't and I feel like an intruder in this place I used to love so much."
She didn't say anything after that. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm insane, but that's okay. It doesn't really matter what she thinks.
Some people just didn't like that book, and that's cool. (Except that one chick who made fun of me on her blog which was really NOT cool. I know she's a jealous hater, but still). Some people, hysterically, think I'm too famous to talk to them or something now. I would like to invite those people to take a look at my mortgage and the pitiful state of my checking account because I assure you, were I famous neither one of those would be an issue right now and let me assure you just as passionately that both of those are the cause of many sleepless nights for me. Some people...I don't know. It's just different.
I'm different too, mind you. Not blaming anyone. Okay, if I'm blaming anyone, I'm blaming me. Because I'm preoccupied and I'm obsessed and I spend way less time than I used to on all of this.
But mostly? I'm sad. I'm really, really sad.
This used to be my happy place. And it's not so happy anymore.