Put On My Dancing Shoes

Yeah, baby!

With less than ten minutes to spare, the last run to the Post Office run was made this afternoon. The rest of the country might be dancing because of a hottie named Harry but I am longing for my dancing shoes because my manuscript has shot off across the continent toward New York. It's done, Done, DONE.

And now I can spend all my leisure time organizing garage sales and vacuuming the air out of my possessions. (Vacuum packing clothes: Way more fun than it should be.)

My GOODNESS I'm going to look back on this year one day and just spin! I've sold a novel (though technically that was last October), finished two novels (though again, technically, the first of that duet requires a major overhaul, since it won't sell), am speaking at a Conference (though technically, it's not really "speaking" speaking if you're only doing an hour long panel - it's more like facilitating a conversation); I am moving to the UK (and technically, again, that's not about me, but about Mac), and -- and -- I AM GOING TO BE INTERVIEWED BY JULES AND EISHA!!!

And quite honestly? That's the most exciting part (even if it's - technically - not about me).

The only thing about all of this whirlwind that makes me a tiny bit, slightly, marginally sad is... my... printer.

You know how great amateur cooks get all excited over their cooking, and eventually sidle up, break down and stop lusting over a shiny red Kitchen Aid stand mixer, but actually agonize over prices, and save their pennies and ...buy one? And they paint flames and stuff on the sides of them, and get all sentimental about them, and maybe even name them? (Or is that only Alton Brown?) Well... I'm a little bit like that with what I call my Gray Rhino. My printer is ...huge. It's a HP Color Laserjet 2820. It's a printer, scanner and copier. It can print out an entire 283 page manuscript in about seven minutes, and ask why there aren't a few hundred more pages. It is my dream printer, and so big a step up from what I was doing before that it's scary. I bought it used -- obviously, it's a huge, expensive office-sized machine -- and I love it, love it, love it. I can now act like I don't know what a Kinko's is, and ignore all the slacker clerks at Paper Tiger (which is admittedly an awesome name for a copy shop, despite their general slacker-y-ness). I can send the requisite TWO COPIES of final manuscript to my agent, I can print back-to-front like my editor likes things, I can print things in color, I can print things at 3:46 a.m., and it makes me VERY happy.

And I can't take it to Glasgow.

Which just sucks.

Himself firmly promises me that I am to have another one -- just like it -- that will not have to be shipped. He swears that HP is an international company, and it will be an easy thing to find another one, just as soon as we are settled. He tells me I can name it the same thing. He spins all sorts of pretty lies... er, prevarications, to make me feel better.

And I guess I'll get over it.
After all, he has to (!) leave behind his Kitchen Aid.

Still, I can't help but dance. It's one down, and three hundred forty seven million things to go.