Am I Caught Up Yet?

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Let’s see if I remember how to do this.

I think I start with an explanation. For the people who read this blog, who hang on my every word as though it was water in the desert … get a life, please. Seriously, I apologize that I have been absent for so long that my webmistress—subtle thing that she is—commented on an FB post about my dog that I should probably write a freaking blog.

Or four-letter words to that effect.

The truth is that I have been kidnapped by my day job, tortured and beaten by boring corporate training that has to be done NOWNOWNOW!!!, and attacked on all sides by painful physical therapy, broken promises, and inconsistency at every turn. (Do I sound suitably pathetic? Are you weeping openly, without shame, for the tragedy that has been my existence of late?)

No? Damn. Tough room.

Long story short, I’ve been too busy to blog.  So let me catch you up.

YA Author Tom Hoover on Getting Caught UpI am still deep in the mud of the query trenches. I foolishly thought that it would be easy to find a new agent by querying the manuscript my old agent asked for. But there was a timing issue, which I blogged about back in the day. So I just went through a second round of peer reviews and edits for a different manuscript, and now I’m querying that. Fingers crossed.

I am in month four of a six-week physical therapy regimen—and yeah, the math doesn’t work for me either. It’s freakin medieval, let me tell you. They put me on this bed, not unlike a rack in those old Vincent Price era inquisition movies, and attach this clamp to my neck (not a joke or an exaggeration, BTB) and stretch. I have bone spurs in my neck and apparently the way you treat those is to turn the patient into a giraffe. On the plus side, no matter where I go, I’ll be able to say, “I can see my house from here.”

My day job. I have cussed and sworn about my latest project so much that your typical profanity has lost all meaning. It’s like tinkly music box sounds. I am in the process of trying to coin even harsher terms, but as yet, no one’s eyebrows have been singed off when I say them. Clearly, there’s more work to be done.

And finally, I have said enough words to count as a blog. Are you happy now, webmistress?

Are you?

Are you?

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