I’m incredibly excited because my next reprint is coming out the first week of May. Originally titled “A Stranger’s Desire,” the tale of Lilly and Beau’s rather, um, unusual relationship is getting a small revision, a new cover, and probably a new title. However, it’s still the same quirky BDSM story in which grief-stricken Lilly, intent on making sure the woman who raised her gets a proper burial, stumbles across the one man who can tame her desires and heal her shattered heart.
Until its release, however, between revisions and work, I get to dwell on some of the more ditzy things I’ve done recently. It seems like there’s been a bunch. Have you ever had one of those days—or weeks—where you do something that can only be described as, well, dingy? I’m having one of those months, actually, where screw-ups seem to be the norm, and it’s really, really irritating.
For example, my DH and I left town for a couple of days last week. In my efforts to try to leave our house as secure as possible, I hid the sheet containing all the passwords for my various logins, which I usually keep by my computer, somewhere safe. To be more precise, I hid it somewhere so secure that I can’t remember where the hell I put it. I can’t even remember what I was thinking when I hid it. So, now my password sheet is somewhere so safe even I can’t find it. One could argue that putting a sheet with my passwords next to my computer is sort of ditzy anyway, but with a menopause-addled memory and age-related fading judgment, I had no choice. And now it’s gone. I blame my mother for this malady. She had this really bad habit of buying birthday or Christmas presents and hiding them in locations specifically chosen for their security, only to forget she’d hidden a present there. Without fail, she'd send me right to that exact spot so I could retrieve some other random item she needed, and, lo and behold, I'd find the present she bought just as she yelled, "Hey, don't look at that box!"
I also sent myself a chapter of a friend’s book to my Yahoo mail, planning to read it and give feedback while on the road. I’d sent it quickly right before we left, so I wasn't too surprised it didn’t arrive right away. But then it didn’t arrive an hour later. And it still didn’t arrive five hours later. And then it never arrived. Or so I thought. I wrote it off to the evil forces of Cyberspace gobbling it up, but today guess where I found it? In my junk mail in the account where I sent it. Not only did I not think to look there, I discovered that my one e-mail account thinks that my other e-mail account is sending it spam. I went through the motions of white-listing my other account, but considering my track record recently, I may have accidentally sent an marriage proposal to the French prime minister, or whatever he is. Or is it a she? See? I can’t even remember.
Have you ever done anything blatantly ditzy? Please do share, because right now it would make me feel a lot less, well, dingy.