Feedback and Failure

Happy Friday. First the feedback from the belly-button examination.

Thank you again for all of your encouraging comments. They meant a lot. I will be continuing to blog, but not every Monday through Friday as I have been. I don't have specific weekdays. I'm going to be cutting down to two or three times a week. If I have more to say in a week--I'll say it. I really don't want to give up this blog altogether, yet I do need a little breathing room with this new insane schedule I'm on. So this is a good compromise. Note--I always post the night before, usually around 9 p.m. Pacific time. So if you check this blog in the morning and see no new post, no need checking back throughout the day. You can always leave a comment on the last post and know I'll see it--all comments are e-mailed to me. You know, something along the lines of, "Where's your post for today, ya lazy writer?!"

Why do I have an even more insane schedule than usual? Can't tell you until ICRS time (in three weeks). Blame that on my publisher. I've only been sitting on the news for a year.

Speaking of ICRS (the annual convention for Christian publishing)--here comes the Failure part. Guess what's happening this year on Monday night?

The Personality Party. Again.

Am I invited?

Nope.

Again.

One year ago I wrote on this very subject, bemoaning my fate. Here I am, another year older--and no better off. And I tried so hard! I started to write a new post on the subject, then figured--heck, why not just cut and paste from last year? Hardly any editing needed.

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... Got my copy of the latest Aspiring Retail. The magazine’s full of information on ICRS ... One thing I won’t be doing there—going to a special party Monday night. I’m not invited.

It’s a “Personality Party,” see. For personality-laden authors, and the booksellers dying to meet them.

Apparently I am quite dull.

It was bad enough before. ICRS used to have “personality booths.” Certain authors with the “P” distinction would sign their books in these special roped off areas, for which the publisher paid extra money. I’d just sign at the Z booth.

But now—oh, man, rub it in. It’s a party. For two whole hours. They’ll probably have streamers and everything.

In the P booth days, I'd bemoan my fate to my friends. Relegated to Dull-dom, I declared that some bright, shining day I would grow a Personality. Now, staring at the P party in bold font on the magazine’s schedule, I have given up. This is my fifth [EDIT--SIXTH] ICRS. I’ve loitered in Dullsville, while the P authors have graduated to a night’s event.

I must admit, I saw a full-page ad for three authors who’ll be showcased at the P party—and felt a twinge of vindication. I hadn’t heard of one of them. Then I remembered it didn’t matter. Well-known or not, they possessed a personality. Give them a few years, they'll take over the world.

But I'm not bitter.

Tell me, what do I have left to do? To try? For five [EDIT--SIX] interminable years, I’ve parked myself before a mirror, practicing expressions. Accents. Certain suave tilts of the head. Coy looks through my lashes. Nothing has worked.

I am doomed.

But not to worry. Ever the fighter am I. Somehow I shall keep my chin up at the convention. Maybe I’ll find other dull authors to hang with on Monday night. What a time we should have. Think the waiters will notice us?

Or perhaps I shall plant myself in front of my hotel room mirror. Practicing yet again. Hoping against hoping that in 2007 [EDIT--2008], that bright and shining year . . .