It’s about ten p.m. on Monday, June 14—roughly two hours before Imperial Bedrooms comes out. You know, not that I am counting down nor looking forward to it so much I might puke.
Naturally, the one day since March that I have to leave for work before nine a.m. (read: when the Barnes & Noble across the street opens) is tomorrow. Overcome with quiet, five foot tall girl rage and my high-pitched sweetheart voice, I just tried to weasel myself a copy before the clock struck twelve. But corporate America (and an employee wishing to keep his job) won, and I will have to wait until my stupid meeting is over tomorrow, then conveniently offer to go on a Starbucks run for everyone.
In related news, I dream of one day being legitimate enough a writer that I don’t need to grovel to a bookstore employee to snag the next Ellis novel, and that, one day, someone will fake an out-of-town trip to get his hands on a copy of my novel two hours before it’s released, too.
Dreams, dreams, dreams.
M
