* Chapter 9 is now live. One more chapter to go...
* The random number generator picked commenter Carol as the winner. Carol, can you email me and we'll figure out some kinda prize?
* Slowly, slowly I'm working out the e-book kinks. It's less fun than you might imagine. However, a note: the e-book can also be downloaded in .doc and .pdf forms that you can read on your computer if you don't have an e-reader. Go here. And the cover art still looks like this:
I repost because I love it.
* A little bit more about Austin. Yes, I was rear-ended by a hippie in a duct-taped pick-up truck - that also had a couple of bald tires. Yes, I am fine. Yes, it was a weird end to less that ideal day.
The drive from Houston to Austin was lovely. I like a good road trip - and the 290 route is intriguing if you don't live in that sort of scrubby flatland. Bugs the size of your hand make for good scenery, as long as you can admire them from behind glass.
I'm not being at all sarcastic. I really do love that sort of thing.
It got weird once I got to the hotel and was given a room that was still occupied. That sorted, I went to Threadgill's, where lunch was exactly what I wanted it to be. (For those curious, butter beans, grits and sweet potato fries with a lemonade.) I bought a t-shirt, just because. I read the Chronicle while I ate. That plus the drive around the old 'hood, which was pretty much that end of Lamar, made my heart all warm.
(Hyde Park Theater, where I spent many an hour back in the day.)
And then I started my trek to the Knitting Nest, which was a lot farther down S. Congress than I'd thought. And no one was there, because I was terribly early, which happens a lot when I go from Eastern time to Central time.
(yarn bombed tree outside of the Knitting Nest)
Long story short, due to the lack of folk interested in talking to me at the Nest,* I crashed the men's knitting circle that was also there.
This is Doug Upchurch who runs White Bear Fibers.
Steven is on the right and needs to start his own Starmore.**
Despite the friendliness of these gentlemen, I had the start of a good funk going by the time I left. I blame no one but myself for the self-pity cycle that followed. The fertilizer was my own brain, which kept up a steady stream about how most of the people I knew here were gone and this place no longer enchanted me, in fact, actively didn't want me around, was full of cool hipsters and I am an old frumpy mom...you get the idea. I had a good ol' wallow going.
I stopped at Book People on my way back, because I'd almost finished Patchett's State of Wonder*** and had nothing else to read. As I was leaving Book People, fat drops of rain started pelting down. "Huh," I thought to myself. "No one in Texas can drive in the rain. I should wait it out."
Reader, that is not what I did.
In full-woe-mode, I pulled out onto Lamar. I made it to 24th street, where I stopped at the light and noticed the guy behind me wasn't.
(note duct tape around his front window)
After leaping out of the truck to make sure I was OK, the next words out of his mouth were "we need to get our story straight."
While we waited for the cops (and there were two more relatively unrelated if very similar accidents behind us), hippie dude proceeded to tell me about his premonition, man, that he should just pull over and wait the rain out. And on, like he was asking for my forgiveness. Which I wasn't inclined to give.
(those two dents are the sum total of the damage to my rental car.)
The police showed up. We filled out paperwork. He took my pen. I drove to Central Market to get dinner and a beer.
Because everything is all about me, I took it as a sign from the universe that the self-pity pissed it off. Well played, universe.
I woke up the next morning, early, and drove back to Houston. I watched the sun rise over 290.
And then, many hours later, I was home.
* Other than the aforementioned BRNNR and Kat.
** Enabler? Moi?
*** Read it.