Diary of a NYT Best Selling Author

Diary of a NYT best selling author


The Friday Favorites have been hijacked this week by something that might very well trump the next month of them.

Or six.

Yesterday I found out I am a New York Times best selling author.

Um, excuse me?

No, no, no. You heard me right.

A NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLING AUTHOR!!

fainting

Seriously, one minute I’m waking up from a 10 a.m. nap, and the next I’m famous.

I mean, relatively speaking.

Remember this little book? The blogging anthology that paved the way for every blogging anthology that was to come? I may or may not have mentioned it a few times.

i just want to pee alone

Two years.

This book has been chugging along for two years, and it’s now an official NYT Best Seller.

NYT best seller4

It’s the blogging anthology that could. It never gave up.

Seems like just yesterday I was freaking out over getting the news that I’d be included in the book (and hilariously horrifying my children when they learned the topic of my essay), and now this.

It’s enough to make a girl feel damn important.

Which I did.

For about an hour.

In case any of you have ever wondered what it was like to be extremely important, here’s a glimpse.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go buy some leather bound books.

big deal anchorman

 

11:00 – Find out you are a New York Times Best Selling author! Freak out! Call your husband! Demand champagne! Text your daughter who is currently sitting in a college lecture and have a 10 minute text convo with her with many, many emojis. (Who cares if she’s in class? You are paying for that lecture, and besides, you are a NYT Best Selling Author, so the professor can suck it.)

11:30 – Update all social media sites to make sure EVERYONE knows you are important.

11:45 – Refresh social media sites many, many times to see who wants to congragulate you.

12:00 — Contemplate getting a small monkey to feed you grapes. Or strawberries.

12:01 — Grapes.

12:02 — No, strawberries.

12:10 – Notice that high winds have knocked both of your empty trash cans into the street in front of your house. Do not go out into the 36 mph winds and 30° windchill to pick them up, for you are a NYT Best Selling author! “Regular people” can pick that shit up.

12:30 – Contemplate opening a bottle of wine. Do not. Need to wait until there is a physician on staff to treat middle-of-the-day headaches before getting that kind of crazy.

12:33 — Google “getting a personal physician.”

12:35 — Google “John Grisham house” to see what kind of lifestyle you can look forward to.

1:00 – Surprised to realize that no one is calling you for interviews, you make lunch.

Noting says "VIP" like peanut butter. And Cheetos.

Noting says “VIP” like peanut butter. And Cheetos.

1:15 — Consider getting a facial. Or lip injections.

1:30 — Practice reading essay in book aloud in case you are requested to do a live reading later for television interview.

1:45 — Silent phone and silent house. That laundry ain’t gonna do itself. But you are a NYT Best Sel— ah, dammit. Even best selling authors need clean underwear.

2:00 — Eat more Cheetos. Thoughts of the monkey feeding them to you slowly fading.

2:30 — Check social media. Discover Zayn Malik has left One Direction. You just got trumped.

3:30 — Take shower. Curl hair in case someone wants to take your photograph later. Like People Magazine.

4:30 — Pick up daughter at rehearsal. Tell her how important you are! She is mildly impressed, but more excited about getting a shake at McDonalds and more emotional about the sad news of Zayn.

6:00 — Attend a board meeting while eating a dinner of a grocery store salad out of a plastic container.

Nothing says "VIP" like a plastic fork.

Nothing says “VIP” like a plastic fork. And wilted lettuce.

8:45 — With expectations of some sort of surprise fading, you slowly and sadly begin to realize that Katie Couric isn’t going to call, and your family isn’t going to rub your feet.

9:00 — All hopes of any sort of a celebration dashed, you guzzle some wine while sitting at kitchen counter while husband plays games on his ipad and daughter surfs the web. You bet Jodi Picoult’s family brushes her damn hair every night.

10:45 — Notice dirty dishes in the sink. Sigh.

11:00 — Google “New York Times Best Selling Author” and find this holding spot No. 2:

NYT best seller5

11:01 — Fall asleep with a smile on your face. If Google thinks you are important, it must be so … monkey or no monkey.

 



All kidding aside, to those of you who have bought the book (and to those of you who have actually read it) — thank you.

I may not ever have a monkey feed me grapes—or strawberries—but having people like you support me makes me feel far more special!

 

New to the group and want to catch up? Click on the pictures of the books over there on the right to order!

My Pee Alone journey:
The Big News
The Big Reveal
The Horrified Children
The First Book Signing



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  • Snarkfest - Proud to be in such cool company on the old Googles. Congrats my friend and let’s see how many more books we can sell before our friends and family get sick of us again!!ReplyCancel

    • Michelle - Right?? (About both the Google and people getting sick of us, although that happened awhile ago, I’m sure. 😉 )ReplyCancel

  • Stacey @nursemommylaughs - 9:00 pm This was so funny I actually read it aloud to my husband, whilst interrupting his iPad reading. Seriously! We both had tears in our eyes.ReplyCancel

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