Agonies of a Young Author

I've become resigned. It's no longer frustrating, no longer amusing, just another fact of life.

I have the worst luck in travel.*

Don't believe me? Here's evidence. And here. And I suspect that there are more in the archives, but I am lacking the motivation to troll through them all. (Feel free yourself, though.)

Anyways, I am stuck in another airport. More cancellations, more delays, a couple of missed connections... yeah, it's all here.

BUT-- I am going to Portland. To the book signing. The weather is predicted to be rainy and cold, and I have scarf and boots in preparation. I have artsy jewelry. I have brightly colored clothing. I have ... dammit, I don't have my book, I packed in the checked bag! Grrrrrrrr. Well, I will have a torrid Gothic romantic mystery by Louisa May Alcott when I get to Portland. (*grumble, grumble*) I will have a spiffy hotel (I'm obsessed with Embassy Suites. Yay Embassy Suites!) And tomorrow, I will have the newest Kate Daniels. Cosigned by the authors.

So, not thinking about the stupidity of air travel, thinking about the amazing two-day literary excursion in store.

Oh, they're calling me. Fascinating. Well, off to board the little silver sausage tube they call a plane. See you on the other coast!

*Correction: Air travel. I have the worst luck in air travel. Luckily, my car loves me.

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: "Hey, Soul Sister" by Train on the airport speakers.
What I want most: Some food. Real food, not airport stuff. To be in Portland. To escape the airport.