My book gripped in the hands of a reviewer, on holiday in Puerto Vallarta, who “could not stop reading it” – Well! let’s just say that made my day: I was no longer “a legend in my living room.”
This feeling of being stranded in the Universe, only supported by my own self-inflicted importance, comes on me when I’m building my website, and then, again, when I’m on my Facebook timeline where I expose my work, my words, myself.
It’s all done in the hope that someone will hear me above the noise, or even better, will visit my lovingly constructed website.
In anticipation, I hang photos on its walls and set my journal on a coffee table for my visitors to read. Lying next to it is a short story I wrote, and excerpts from Katherine Mansfield and The Drummer’s Widow. My scrapbook is there, too, its pages pasted with press releases and book reviews.
I take pride in counting my new Facebook friends and I practically implode when the stats on my website go up and I can count the visitors who have passed through my living room. Their visits are sadly brief. If only I was really there, we might sit down and talk awhile about books and things.