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Random Writer stuff

First off: the farworld contest . . . . and the winner is: *all* of you who left a comment (now all those who didn’t leave a comment are crying in their Dr Pepper right now because they aren’t getting a book–and yes, I do know who commented before I posted this blog entry, so don’t go thinking you can slide in under my radar).

Jeff Savage has been an incredible friend to me over the years. He’s commisserated when commisserating was needed, kicked my backside when that was needed (though I hate it when he does that), and rejoices with me when I find success. He personally hand delivered my manuscript to his editor and has gone to bat for me more times than I can count.  I pretty much owe him any royalties I might gain from my upcoming release Eyes Like Mine  for all he’s done for me. It is for this reason I am buying all my commenters his book.

I bought a new TV (purchased on eBay for a screamin’ deal) so I can watch Heroes with better quality. With the new TV came an entertainment center (also bought on ebay, the deals keep screamin’) and with these new indulgences came the need to rearrange my living room. Now, anyone who has been in my house, knows that books are stuffed in every available spot (anyone who has been in my bedroom knows Darth Vader is stuffed in every available spot– a measure of my love for Mr Wright.)

The domino effect came into play here as I went from one bookshelf to another, rearranging in an order that makes sense only to me. The entire process took me a couple of days to complete. And I had an amazing epiphany. I own an entire bookcase of signed books by authors whom I not only admire, but count as my dearest friends. The process took a long time because I went through my books and read the messages left there especially for me from people I love.

Inside the jackets of these books were words of encouragement, gratitude, love, and admiration. There were private jokes and things that you had to be there for to think they were funny. I walked away from the experience humbled to know that not only do I call these people my friends, but they call me theirs.

These are the people I call when I get trapped on a bus for three hours with a bunch of eighth graders. These are the people who know me well enough to dub the writer’s insecurity disease Julie Wrightus. These people are among the first to find out when I get rejected, when I get accepted, when I finish a new novel, when my kids lose their teeth.

There are days when I am genuinely sorry I dared to step up and be a writer. There are days when I wonder what it would be like to go back, forget it all, and learn how to cook like normal moms do. But then I shudder. What fool would want to go back and lose so many friends? My kids are okay with days where dad is busy and mom has to cook. But I wouldn’t be okay without those people whose names sit on my bookshelf.  I wouldn’t be okay without the friends I’ve made through conferences and the internet as a direct result of my decision to write.

Thanks guys. All of you!