That I’d want to tell the whole world, every day, sometimes every hour, that I, Aimee Ross, an English teacher who loves books and authors and teaching about them, actually did something that I respect more than anything. In fact, I make my living from respecting it: OMG. I wrote a book. And it was published.
That everyone would naturally assume that I am the go-to grammar guru. Hah. Not even. And listen, don’t even ask me about lay, lie, lain, lying. I just can’t. I have no idea.
That I wouldn’t want to ever cook dinner again. I got so used to Jackson doing it, and he’s sooooo good at it…
That I would become an Amazon junkie—but only my book’s page—obsessively checking it every few hours to see if there are any new reviews or if it has gone up or down in rank (updated hourly, you know), both the kindle AND paperback version (at the time of this post, it’s currently ranked #548,817 out of over 8,000,000 books)
That people would talk to me about events in the book as if I made them up. Most common so far: “Oh my gosh, when you flipped off the nurse. I laughed so hard. Did you really do that?” Well, uh, yeah. I wrote it. It’s a true—to the best of my knowledge—story.
That I would be bored. Like ready-to-write-another-book bored. (But not enough to ghost write one, so don’t ask. Which has happened a few times already. I need to write my own stuff.) So anyone have any terrific ideas for another book?