17 Days until the book launch, feral readers!
I was hoping to pen some kind of eloquent mini-essay on how I feel about Dissecting the Angel becoming a tangible thing. I wanted to write some perfect collection of words to evoke my deep gratitude and joy. Something centered and calm and beautiful.
But all I can think of is the feeling of my 15th summer, taking 45s to my friend Heather's house. We played records and danced and sang and shared our elaborate dreams. With perfect abandon. Big '80s hair flying, not worried about looking cool, singing to the back row.
I am that kind of happy.
Back home, the name of a road that crosses a railroad track. Here, a place to keep my verbal play-pretties and whatnot.