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Minnie Me

Yesterday, the universe took time out of its busy schedule to stop by my house and remind me how powerless and insignificant I am.

My cat of 15 years, Scooter, passed away in his sleep. He was the world’s best cat, bar none. Adorable, funny, loyal, no fuss, no muss, and a great mouser. We loved him dearly. Everyone at my house is a wreck.

Meanwhile, I was also reminded that, even though I joke about crushing lines, the truth is: in the publishing business, the author is generally the crushee, not the crusher (unless the author has achieved fame, in which case, it seems to flip almost to the other extreme, or so I’m told). The irony is, when we’re writing, we feel omnipotent – in a benevolent way, of course. We can be anyone, anywhere. We can give our characters sisters, best friends, huge bank accounts, true love – anything we want. So it’s rather shocking to go from that pseudo-powerful status to the other extreme. That’s the price you pay for wanting the book to leave your fake world and enter the real one.

Oh, and I lost a check for $96. I’ve looked everywhere. It’s gone.

Today I’m going to finally do our taxes. It’s that kind of weekend, I guess.

I hope anyone and everyone who reads this is having a better time. Drop me a line if you’re having a stellar weekend so I can live it vicariously. Or if you’re not, let me know and I’ll give you sympathy.

At some point, I’ll remember that I was lucky to have Scooter for 15 wonderful years, and I’m lucky to be published, and I’m lucky it wasn’t a bigger check. And of course, I’m truly lucky nothing worse happened.

But for a day or two, I plan to wallow.

BTYL, Kate

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