OH MY GODS.
Feb. 16th, 2008 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxUm.
Yeah.
Uh.
Still in shock.
So, my mother-in-law, Libby, is friends with an author named Mary Twitty. Libby put me in contact with Mary. Mary is in a writer's group that includes powerhouse Stephen King. Mary asked Libby if I could email Libby the first chapter of my novel. Mary was going to print it out and show it to her group. That was a couple of weeks ago.
This afternoon, Libby called me, frantic.
Mary's writer group had read the chapter of my novel.
They loved it. They loved it. They said it doesn't even need improvement.
They called me brilliant and amazing and truly gifted.
Stpehen King called me brilliant and amazing and truly gifted.
Stephen King wants to show the chapter to his publisher.
Stephen King wants to show the chapter to his publisher.
Stephen fucking King loves my book. Just from the first chapter. Which I wrote when I was twenty.
Stephen. King.
Fuck.
Love him or not, he's been writing for thirty plus years. He's a fucking business in and of himself.
He loves my book.
He. Loves. My. Book.
Oh my fucking gods.
OH MY FUCKING GODS.
OH FUCK. OH FUCK.
FUCK.
When Libby told me all this, I burst into tears. I started screaming, gasping, whimpering. I asked her over and over if it was real. She had called Charlotte to ask if I'd been there because I hadn't heard the phone before. Charlotte was on her way over. I called my parents, who started crying. I called Beca, who started screaming (best reaction ever). Charlotte and Billy came over. Charlotte grabbed me and swung me around and we screamed together and danced around like maniacs. I marched upstairs and told Jason, who hugged me tight. I went back downstairs and upended a nearly empty bottle of scotch whiskey down my throat. I was shaking badly. I IMed Adam in capslock, since he was working and his cell phone has no signal in Bermuda. He has yet to IM me back but oh holy shit. He will go nuts.
This is not happening. This cannot be happening. This doesn't happen. When has Stephen King ever done something like this? Oh my gods, is this real?
I'm still shaking. I need more booze. Or cyclobenzaprine. Or something. I smoked an entire bowl of marijuana and I'm just starting to calm down. No, I'm not. I'm freaked the fuck out.
I need to finish the book. I'd just changed the title this morning. I need to... I need. My brain. Writerbrain. Uh. Holy shit. Holy fuck, oh my gods.
I don't know what to do now. I told Libby to give out my email address and phone number. It could take months to hear back, it could take much less than that. I don't know. I don't know.
I have Monday off. I will need it to process this. Oh gods. Oh my gods, how often does this happen? Motherfuck, son of a bitch.
Stephen King called me brilliant and amazing. No fucking way.
Am I dreaming? Am I dreaming?
Oh my gods.
I am not dreaming.
Yeah.
Uh.
Still in shock.
So, my mother-in-law, Libby, is friends with an author named Mary Twitty. Libby put me in contact with Mary. Mary is in a writer's group that includes powerhouse Stephen King. Mary asked Libby if I could email Libby the first chapter of my novel. Mary was going to print it out and show it to her group. That was a couple of weeks ago.
This afternoon, Libby called me, frantic.
Mary's writer group had read the chapter of my novel.
They loved it. They loved it. They said it doesn't even need improvement.
They called me brilliant and amazing and truly gifted.
Stpehen King called me brilliant and amazing and truly gifted.
Stephen King wants to show the chapter to his publisher.
Stephen King wants to show the chapter to his publisher.
Stephen fucking King loves my book. Just from the first chapter. Which I wrote when I was twenty.
Stephen. King.
Fuck.
Love him or not, he's been writing for thirty plus years. He's a fucking business in and of himself.
He loves my book.
He. Loves. My. Book.
Oh my fucking gods.
OH MY FUCKING GODS.
OH FUCK. OH FUCK.
FUCK.
When Libby told me all this, I burst into tears. I started screaming, gasping, whimpering. I asked her over and over if it was real. She had called Charlotte to ask if I'd been there because I hadn't heard the phone before. Charlotte was on her way over. I called my parents, who started crying. I called Beca, who started screaming (best reaction ever). Charlotte and Billy came over. Charlotte grabbed me and swung me around and we screamed together and danced around like maniacs. I marched upstairs and told Jason, who hugged me tight. I went back downstairs and upended a nearly empty bottle of scotch whiskey down my throat. I was shaking badly. I IMed Adam in capslock, since he was working and his cell phone has no signal in Bermuda. He has yet to IM me back but oh holy shit. He will go nuts.
This is not happening. This cannot be happening. This doesn't happen. When has Stephen King ever done something like this? Oh my gods, is this real?
I'm still shaking. I need more booze. Or cyclobenzaprine. Or something. I smoked an entire bowl of marijuana and I'm just starting to calm down. No, I'm not. I'm freaked the fuck out.
I need to finish the book. I'd just changed the title this morning. I need to... I need. My brain. Writerbrain. Uh. Holy shit. Holy fuck, oh my gods.
I don't know what to do now. I told Libby to give out my email address and phone number. It could take months to hear back, it could take much less than that. I don't know. I don't know.
I have Monday off. I will need it to process this. Oh gods. Oh my gods, how often does this happen? Motherfuck, son of a bitch.
Stephen King called me brilliant and amazing. No fucking way.
Am I dreaming? Am I dreaming?
Oh my gods.
I am not dreaming.
