Okay, so maybe it was three weeks. But hey – you know – you can’t rush genius! Or me, more to the point. At any rate – the three weeks have passed and the time for the announcement has come!!
(Are you ready?)
(You’re not ready – I can see you. You have no popcorn. And where’s the Drambuie? There must always be Drambuie to wash down the shock and awe that comes with Cat Vacuuming’s Momentous Revelations. It’s really the only thing that will do. Go get some. I’ll wait.)
You’re not going. Yeah, that’s right. I dropped the parentheses. You’re not taking this seriously, so I must resort to drastic measures. Like speaking directly to you without the buffering comfort of parentheses to cushion the blow of my mighty words. GET THE DRAMBUIE!
…where was I? OH RIGHT! Momentous Revelations! Are you ready? Seriously… OKAY, you’re ready. Here it is:
I AM A FRAUD
I know, right? Shocking! That’s GOT to be, like, the biggest surprise you’ve had in years! … What do you mean it’s not? No, no. This is TOTALLY more surprising than Uncle Marvin and the Shetland pony. All you ever had to do was look at him, for heaven’s sake. He pawed the ground any time he made change!
Okay… okay. So maybe it’s not that surprising, but do you know why I’m a fraud? What? No. No… No, that thing in Bangkok was totally not my fault. I mean, who brings a chicken to a bar mitzvah? Seriously. Branford was an honest mistake, too. Who knew hairpieces were flammable? I think maybe she got a bad batch of glue.
NO! You’re wrong! That’s not it. You want to know why I’m a fraud? I’ll tell you:
I wrote a book.
See? Huh? Shocking, isn’t it. ME. That bastion of non-writing, pillar of the cat vacuuming community. What can I say? When you’ve been on the wagon as long as I have you’re bound to fall eventually, and fall hard.
I am ashamed! ‘Lo, I hang my head and moan. I am a novelist! Save me from myself!
Worse yet: It’s a BIG one.
That’s where I’ve been these past few months! Wallowing in an orgy of words! Prostrate before the miserable altar of Plot and Poetic License! Forgive me! Take pity on me, dear readers! Lend me your words of support, your prayers… your cash wouldn’t hurt either, honestly. Save me from myself and my hidden shame!
Only you, dear readers. Only slavish devotion to the cause can rescue me from my ignominious and all-too-well-deserved fate! Only you, my friends, can prevent sequels. (I can feel it! It lurks and looms in the hidden recesses of my brain, longing only for my weakness and an open word processor! The horror! THE HORROR!)
I go now, but with a promise and a prayer. I promise I shall return! Only Cat Vacuuming can save me from the inhuman plight of the novelist. And I pray you will join me here, remind me yet again how terrible life as a writer must be, and how foolish those that embark upon it thinking it’s even remotely a good idea.
I know you will be by my side, dear readers. I have faith in you.
Good night! Good Hoovering! And whatever you do…