Barfing Rainbows

Do you remember my Unicorn of Happiness?

(That’s him with his friend, the SSRI of Happiness.)

This is him, crying rainbows:

This is me, barfing rainbows of happiness:

OK, you’re right, it’s just a bunch of Skittles. And in case you’re wondering, even rainbows taste like sour orange juice coming back up, just like everything else. Who knew?

The reason I’m barfing rainbows of happiness is because I’m going to be a speaker at BlogHer ’12 in New York City this August. I’m going to be on a panel about telling stories with pictures, and before you ask how I got this gig, let me tell you my honest answer: I HAVE NO IDEA. I KNOW, you’re scratching your heads. ME? MEEEEE? They may have made a mistake, but I signed a contract (with my own blood) (they said it wasn’t necessary, but I like the insurance factor blood gives me), so I’m GOING now.

And? You know that book I’m fretting about? Another agent wants to read the book. The whole book. The fourth agent that’s asked. I told her it wasn’t quite ready and would send it SOON if she was up for that. (I don’t know if she is, but it was happy news that what I’m writing about isn’t complete dreck.) I’d stopped editing it, and I think this is God’s (or the Universe’s) (or the Unicorn’s) way of telling me to FINISH THE REWRITE OMG YOU DRAMA QUEEN.

I also have an article on why running is good for the soul, called “Why I Run,” out in MAEVE today, too. (Um, it’s in a really hard-to-read print, I’m sorry about that.) I feel a little bit like God/Universe/Unicorn is giving me messages every thirty seconds or so about…something, but I’m not sure WHAT. WHAT COULD IT BE?

In Some Assembly Required, Anne Lamott says of herself that she asks God for a sign, and then when she gets one, she chases him down and asks for another one, maybe in a different font, or with bigger lettering, or prettier, and then another, and another, and she’s constantly pestering God for ANOTHER SIGN.

Oh goodness, today I could not have MORE SIGNS about what I am supposed to be doing. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and supporting and helping and holding up those big, blinking, neon arrows that point which direction I should be going. You are the best friends.

 

 

Comments

  1. says

    I am so, so, SOOOOOO happy for you! When you’re some big writer star, I’ll happily say “I read her before she was famous!” ;-)

  2. says

    Super super super cool. I’m so happy for you! Yeah! Oddly, I now feel strongly compelled to go to Blogher when I haven’t wanted to in years. Maybe I will just force you to speak on an imaginary panel at the Blathering instead.

  3. says

    You have so many signs!!! It’s excellent that you’re in such high demand! Also, if a bunch of agents want to read your work, you know you’ve got it going on (to use some 90s-speak). Also, my offer still stands to give you feedback on your book! My semester will be over in about two weeks, so I have a wee break with no work before summer school in which I have lots of time to read and give feedback.

  4. says

    I think those signs are saying “you’re AWESOME!”

    Congrats on the article , the AGENTS and the Blogher Conference panel, AWESOME!!!

  5. says

    ZOMG! I’m going to be at the BlogHer 2012 conference. We should totally hang. (And by hang, I mean stand awkwardly in a corner with our hair in our faces together while communicating via electronic device.)

  6. says

    This is all awesome news! Yay! I’m so happy for you- you deserve it, woman. Okay, I’m going to have to hop a freight train out to NYC and sleep in Central Park and see if I can sneak into Blogher dressed like one of your drawings so everybody thinks I belong there.

  7. says

    YAY! That is so awesome.

    I find that the signs often come all at once. Sort of like being pelted with 100 tiny fuzzy puppies :)

  8. says

    This is all so awesome! I’m barfing rainbows for you! (Yes, even a week later…it’s just that cool…lay off me.)

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