Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Planets on their period won’t affect good ole paper and ink.
As I drive to the coffee shop, I chuckle remembering how adamant Vi was about not believing in astrology, alignment of the planets and moon, all my “weirdo hippy shit” she used to call it. But after years—years!—of pointing it out anytime something “weirdly hippyish” happened while Mercury was in Retrograde, things that never, ever, ever happened at any other time and had no other explanation, ruling out coincidence, she finally started giving in when I showed her that the “lovely” few times a year it happens is on the calendar in the Farmer’s Almanac.
And we were also told by a fellow submissive at our club who is a flight attendant that they take a number of flights off the schedule during Mercury Retrograde, because there is documented evidence that shows more crazy shit happens during those times than any other during the year. For example, more issues with planes, like the service engine light coming on when nothing is actually wrong, or scheduling conflicts with layovers that should be impossible because of how the system is set up.
Anything that has to do with electronics and communication, good luck, bruh. It’s why they say never to make big decisions or sign any contracts during Mercury Retrograde. And you shouldn’t trust your conversation skills while it’s going on either. Many a fight have broken out between the best of friends, just because that little cunt Mercury was wreaking havoc on that part of our brains.
Guess what was happening in the world of astrophysics when my good ole former-BFFs decided to take offence to the fact that an author interview that came out about me, written by a woman-owned coffee company, in which the article didn’t show me gushing and thanking my friends profusely, crediting them for every good thing that’s ever happened to me. Ya know, since it was them who did all the work. It had nothing to do with the years made up of countless hours and literal blood, sweat, and tears I put into writing and building my career.
Go ahead.
Guess.
Ding, ding, ding!
Mercury fucking Retrograde!
Even after my disease to please took full control of my mind and body, at which point I found myself emailing the coffee company and begging them for a copy of the two-hour Zoom interview. Instead of writing—or hell, anything remotely more important than that bullshit—I spent the next several hours scouring the interview, screen-recording every single time I did credit my girlfriends for their support while writing, during author signings, helping keep up with my social media, et cetera. And then I sent aaall those clips to them so they could see for themselves I did, in fact, give them all sorts of kudos during the interview that didn’t make it into the article.
One—because I didn’t write the damn article myself. The company who reached out to me—who wanted to feature me on their girl-power blog, my first real interview as an author that wasn’t done by one of my book blogger friends—they were the ones who wrote it.
And two—and as Vi oh-so eloquently put it before she ripped them a new asshole when she found out they “had the audacity to be pissy little cunty fucking assholes” to me about it—“Nobody fucking cares about the personal assistant and the people who help produce the digital and paperback copies of a book when they open up an article to read about an author. So why would they waste time and words talking about someone who put your readers’ autographed copy orders together? Nobody gives a shit about monotonous behind-the-scenes crap like that. If they had put in the article every nice thing you had to say about all of us, I could almost guarantee the person reading the article would DNF that bitch in a heartbeat. Did. Not. Fucking. Finish. Because it’s boooring.”
Sweet little Vi had turned rabid on my behalf, continuing her rant. “You did your job as a good friend. You always, always make sure to thank them over and over again while you’re signing the paperbacks live on Facebook. You always gush over them to the readers watching, and in posts in general, all the time! Not to mention, you put us in your acknowledgments in the back of every single one of your books, and you name your goddamn characters after them. Repeatedly. Using first, middle, last, and maiden names! Even their kids get put into the stories. That’s how much you care about them and want them to know how much you appreciate them. Us. Me included. But I don’t want to be fucking grouped with those bitches. Because you know what all this bullshit is telling me? Oh hell yeah, girl. My Spidey senses are going apeshit right now. You wanna know what their shitty-ass attitude is telling me?”