I am not good at dealing with good news. Something mildly nice happened to Autumn Bird And The Runaway, and everyone associated with the book went, ‘OMG this is great!’ and ‘Way to go!’ and like that. I contributed a snarky ‘Ho Hum, we privileged white guys are used to it’ kind of response. And now I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Why couldn’t I just hop on the happy train with everyone else?
Because I’m not pooh-poohing their reaction. In fact, I agree. But it seems that I can’t just say so. There is a stupid stubborn independent (did I say stupid?) part of me that (stupidly) needs to do the unexpected thing. The other thing. The surprising thing.
Which explains this post. I don't usually write about feelings. But my reactions around the writing business are related to my writing. Surprise matters.