Do what you feel, just what you like. (Nobody has to know.)*
At 6PM tonight I was driving west on Highway 30 towards the exit I take to go to my chiropractor, and I swear, I almost just kept going on to Nebraska. My head was pounding and my eyes crossed from something pinched funny in my neck and shoulder, but I saw that open road, heard Imogen Heap singing the song that birthed Sam and Mitch, and all I wanted to do was run home, grab Dan, Anna, and the trusty cooler and GO, headache be damned. In fact, while I thought about running away, I was momentarily pain-free.
I have been increasingly homesick as we’ve approached May, and now that it’s here and I realize my family is not about to take an epic trip west in three weeks, I find I’m very depressed. The ache is even worse now than it was when I wrote, then proofed, then reread Special Delivery, which is a statement. It definitely helps that the trip which is sacred above all trips in my heart was also the backbone of the novel people still write me about to say how much they loved it, or that they thought it was incredibly hot, or sweet, or that they cried, or a mixture of all those things. But mostly right now I want to take the trip for me. I find myself having flashbacks to Four Corners or the Grand Canyon or random parts of the Colorado mountains or the endless drive through Utah which poor Dan had to do because I for some reason couldn’t drive even in the valleys. I even miss LA traffic. I miss the adventures that popped up out of nowhere, the odd things that made us laugh or freaked us out. I can’t say I miss Wolf Creek Pass (I would take an Ativan before I went over again), but I’d endure it if it meant I got to take that trip again. I love the way my family knit together so beautifully while we were on that journey. It’s not that we’ve unknit between then and now—quite the opposite, in fact. I just want to feel it again, that moment when it happened. Which I know I can’t have. Except, maybe….
Instead of taking a trip, I am having so many releases of fiction that I’m frankly overwhelming myself. On May 10 is my short story "Down the Middle" in the anthology Necking from Dreamspinner. June 1 is my novella The Wounds in the Walls, available singly or as part of the Midsummer Nightmare Daily Dose. (It’s got a wicked creepy cover.) Either shortly before or after that Miles and the Magic Flute is released. I look at this and wonder how the hell I got any writing done at all in the past two months. All I’ve done is release books and do galleys. Well, the nice thing is that I don’t have anything else out until The Sweet Son novella is released in August. If I don’t have Two To Tango finished by then, someone please shoot me.
Maybe this is why instead of promoting all I want to do is get in the Mazda and run. Except to be honest, right after I curbed the urge to keep on driving and got off at my exit, I thought, "Ooh, maybe Sam and Mitch could do that in their novella…."
So I guess this one hell of a messed up promo post, where I toss a pile of stories at you and confess I want to run. Oh well. At least you’ll have something to read.
*Lyrics from "Tidal" by Imogen Heap. Such a gorgeous song.