While I was home in MN in August, I wrote blog posts. A lot of them. I haven't posted most of them. You're welcome.
This is one of the posts I wrote while I was home, random observations that came into my head as I worked on cleaning out my basement.
I couldn't find my autographed copy of Suzanne Brockmann's Ladies' Man—the original Loveswept version—and that just about gave me a stroke. I don't know what the book is worth now since the story was finally released for real, but before that happened, the special edition version I had was worth $1000 when it was autographed. After a frantic ten minutes or so, I finally found it. Whew!
As I'm going through some of my books again, trying to get rid of more of them, I kind of wish ebooks had caught on sooner. It would make my move a whole lot easier, cheaper, and less stressful. On the other hand, it's a huge thrill—even after ten years—to hold books in paper. The day author copies arrive is one of huge excitement and celebration, and seeing your book on the shelf in a store or at the airport? Goes off the awesome scale. My books coming out in electronic versions only hasn't held that level of excitement. But as a reader, I'm only buying fiction as ebooks and have been for a couple of years.
As an addendum to the item above this: I've been trying to replace my reread, keep forever books with electronic copies because I'm much more likely to read them in this format than to go get the paper copy to read. I love how I can have so many books at my fingertips without losing living space.
While I was going through boxes, I found those Colorforms things. You know the ones, where there's a figure or scene and the clothes are some kind of sticky plastic? I had one on the human anatomy. Yes, I had an interest in physiology and anatomy early apparently. One of the career options I'd been exploring was doctor, but my squeamishness killed that idea.
I've had a lot of insomnia while I've been home—stress, most likely—and that's allowed me to get some reading done. One of the books was an old favorite of mine. I used to reread it all the time, but haven't in the last ten years. What surprised me was that while I still enjoyed the book, I didn't love it as much as I had in the past. It was still a keeper and I'd still recommend it, but it wasn't the "OMG, you have to read this right now" book that it used to be. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've read so many other paranormal books since then or maybe because I've been writing for ten years.
Once upon a time, "playing book" was fun. Playing book is what we called it when we rearranged our bookshelves. As I'm rearranging things for the move, I've decided playing book isn't a good time anymore. I wonder how much it would cost to have a librarian come in for a day and organize my collection?
