Dear Neglected Readers:
Please forgive my long silence. I am typing this from the spooky cavern of rewrite-land, where I have been holed up for months, slicing and dicing and fluffing and puffing my manuscript in order to put it in your hands. Between production/editing delays on Inkshares end and dueling projects on my own desk, things have taken longer than I expected, and I have been too chagrinned to update you. But your books are coming, and I am excited for the day they ship. It looks to be a summer publishing date, and I will have that info for you soon. In the meantime, if you’re dropping by my office, I need 72 hours notice to take the index cards off the walls and find the floor beneath the discarded pages.
Again, I apologize for being non-communicative. I’m an intro-vertebrate at heart, and I’ve been spending most of my waking hours with the blank (or red-lined) page. Or rage-tweeting at Trump. And screaming at/with MSNBC. With gestures. Both hands. Makes it hard to write sometimes. (Anti-inflammatories help when your fury muscles start to throb.)
Thanks for your patience with me. I promise to make it worth the wait.
With love, gratitude, and a lingering dash of chagrin,