My husband says we are now finally getting into the 21st century. By that, he means we buckled down and purchased an e-reader. I’ve read the pros/cons regarding both Amazon’s Kindle Fire, Apple’s version, and the Nook. I wanted something that I could use on the road to check email, view documents, etc. but also use to read books. I figured, heck I’m an author, I better know how an e-reader works! It’s an investment in my career, if you will.
I went ahead and bought the Nook Tablet, which pretty much does whatever all I need it to do. I can check email, although it does not allow me to check my business email. Doh! After a frustrating few days, I realized that I can check it if I go through Yahoo’s business center login. Then it’s just awful slow because it’s not a mobile webpage. See, I’m learning the lingo. I figured out also how to get books from my library onto it. I’m not so much of a fuddy-duddy after all. I do think I’m the last person on Earth to not have Internet on her phone. I am the only one I know who does not, and I refuse to do that. With Wi-Fi practically everywhere, why would I pay a separate monthly fee just so I could be “connected” 24/7? I really tremble at the idea of being online all the time. Of being accessible.
The customer service online/phone for the Nook is pretty bad. I was told I couldn’t download a Yahoo email app because it does not support Yahoo email. Huh? But I am thankful so far I haven’t needed their unhelpful help.
I feel as though I am in some sort of waiting period. I haven’t really wanted to work very much, not even write that much. It’s a strange space I am in right now. My husband says it is fatigue from the month-long practically 90 hours/week I was putting in during the book launch, but maybe he is being nice.
I finished a personal essay last week, which totaled almost 7,000 words. I sent it to Memoir (and), but that’s the only place I’ve sent it to. The only person who’s read it is my husband. Perhaps that is a mistake, and I need more input. But otherwise, I’ve been staring a lot out of the window in my office, watching the cars go by and the people check their mail. Last week three gunshots were fired from a house down the street from us. Apparently a house party got ugly, and a house party filled with National Guardsmen no doubt. Police came, there was a stand-off, and we think we saw one of the participants flee the scene, but it was mid-morning, and we were still unsure of what we were seeing. So I stare at that house trying to figure out what happened in there, and why I have not been able to find anything about it in the paper, and basically just procrastinating. (I swear, I do not live in the ghetto. Everyone here owns a gun and drinks. It’s like a state law or something.)
Meanwhile, I received a pretty generic rejection from Boulevard. The sales of my book on Amazon have gone down. What? No depressing book about starved, abused boys in an orphanage in India for a Christmas gift or as a stocking stuffer? Come on, Santa! Okay, I am being kind of silly. Must. Sign. Off.