(Title is because I couldn’t think of one, so ripped off Willa Cather. If you’re going to steal, steal from the best.)
I took a bath last night, and brought in Stephanie‘s book, I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone, which I was about one chapter into. I’d torn through about half of it when I dragged myself out of the cold water and into bed.
I left the book on the back of the toilet, which is where I get the most reading done anyway if I am being honest. Late this morning I went into the bathroom to wash my face, and half an hour later discovered that my face was still dirty because I was leaning over, reading the book.
So I brought it into the living room and cuddled with Sam on the couch while I read. Sam fell asleep for his first nap of the week (let’s not talk about that) and I finished the book.
And I cried.
It. Was. So. Good. And you guys, I am totally biased because I knew Stephanie ten years ago (I tell people we dropped out of Antioch together) but really. I loved this book. It’s not a book I would have written and it’s not a book I knew I wanted to read. And yet: love.
(ETA: that kind of didn’t make sense. I knew I wanted to read it because Stephanie wrote it, but I didn’t know that the story and the characters would resonate the way they did.)
On the other hand, I have not been writing my novel. I’m not sure what’s holding me back, maybe perfectionism or lack of outline or a hook or the fact that I wish it was YA… Really I think it’s just whatever burnout has been keeping me stagnant in the rest of my life, and hope that I will get over it soon.
Especially because I have an idea for a second novel. It’s just a little germ of an idea, barely even a theme, but it’s there and it’s growing.
NOTE TO SELF: you may not write a second novel until you write the first one. For one thing, it is NOT HUMANLY POSSIBLE and for another SHUT UP. Stop making excuses and write the damn rockabilly novel.
O, Books! (That is my new swear. It’s even better than Bullocks.)