Well, I obviously didn't make the May 1st deadline for Cold Feet's release. I've instead decided on the 10th (psst, you can pre-order the kindle here!), just so it's still available before I have my author event. I've finished all the edits and now I'm just waiting for the files to be approved and all that.
Other than that, my life's been mostly taken up by hobbling around awkwardly. My birthday was the 20th of April so I took my friend to Germany with me and had a lot of fun right up until I fell down some stairs and sprained my ankle.
It's been two weeks and it still hurts! My foot is still slightly swollen! I still have to hobble and work's been miserable, since part of my job is walking around a lot delivering stuff. Booo.
Other than that, though, Germany was pretty nice. Berlin was your typical big, dirty city, but it had some really amazing history. Munich was lovely, even though two of the four days we were there ended up being holidays …
I’m thirty-five, divorced, childless, lacking any romantic prospects, overweight, and—most importantly—ugly. This isn't me being insecure and sad, this is my life, and since the advice for writers always seems to be, "write what you know" I'm going to write here about what I know: being ugly. I’m guessing you were drawn to the title of this blog post because you’re ugly too. After all, why would an attractive person pause long enough to read something aimed at us repulsive chunks? They have better things to do, like other attractive people.
Whether or not you’re an unloveable piece of garbage for some or all of the same reasons as me, you can be certain that I understand where you’re coming from. I’m not going to lie to you or spout platitudes in the hopes that you’ll spontaneously see yourself differently despite your years of being ignored, ridiculed, insulted, and forcibly celibate. I’m not here to insist you’re attractive in that way that suggests I’m only sayin…