So, catching up:
The marketplace clearly prefers my mock dirty book to my efforts as a sincere dirty book writer. I think it is the sincerity part that trips me up. Either way, a great big toast and a Pimm's cup to all of the UK readers who are paying for my cabernet these days: Fifty Shades of Pink is bringing in some lovely little deposits of foreign currency, which I am pretty sure is the same thing as real money.
I will have to check with my friend Jane, who is an authentic something of the British Empire. She will roll her eyes and say something about how Americans need to look at a map once in while. Which is beside the point, but we humor her because she makes the most delicious trifle and we have an enormous crush on her bookshelves.
In other news, I am attempting to bring a second piece of semi-slutty fiction to its semi-slutty conclusion, if only because it makes the kind of thing I can write off as "research" so much more interesting. The fact that seven of you will actually read it is just icing on the cake.
Not that we really need any more icing around here. There must be five or six open cans in the refrigerator, along with an uncovered bowl that has been sitting in the back of the refrigerator since Halloween cupcakes seemed like a good idea.
I think this has Thanksgiving centerpiece written all over it.