Red Room

I read an unsettling post about an author who had the day from hell when her book launched. Her Facebook froze, her laptop battery died, and she couldn’t find her Blackberry. Yikes. Oh, the trials and tribulations of these Twitter Times.

My qualm of the day is on a much smaller scale, but goes to show the metamorphosis that has taken place in me since I’ve minted a book. Recently, I’ve joined a slew of networks to get better connected with literary circles. Some I’ve been active in some I haven’t been. One in particular called the Red Room I have tried to make the effort, but my bio page and book influences have a bunch of HTML gobbledygook spitting out in my profile. Today I made my first blog post on their site. When I’d submitted it I went back to see what it looked like, but of course I couldn’t find it. It appeared to have been lost in a cyber black hole. I was uber-frustrated as I tried posting it 4 more times. Nothing. I later realized there was a pending category that stored a queue of posts requiring approval. All four of my posts waited patiently while I mourned the loss of my sensibility. It then struck me I have become more of an instant gratification whore than I’d like to admit.

Is there a moral to this story? Probably not. But, I find I am more antsy now that I've published my novel than before I had. When I couldn't get Shades of Luz published I skulk in a corner for a while and lament the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune. I napped more. Now, I juked with energy. Nervous energy. Francine Prose says that to be a great writer is to put each word on the trial of it's life. I'm putting each move I make on the trial of its life. I'm looking for skapegoats in case my paper moon gets lost in the shuffle.