When I Paint My Masterpiece (Anne Stuart)

I'm bouncing. Bouncy bouncy bouncy, just like Tigger, because, after 32 loooong years I finally made the New York Times Bestseller List. Number 33 on the extended list, and I'm floating five feet above the ground, singing madly (tra la, tra la) and whirling, dancing. It's not that I'm bipolar. If anything, I'm just down and dirty depressive.
It's the business that's bipolar. Three weeks ago I was in the depths of despair. Mira had screwed up on a number of things, leaving me with a lower print run and not the kind of placement I needed. I was angry, I was weepy, I was heart-broken and jaded (well, that's why I was obsessing over angry songs).
But out of the blue I somehow managed to finally get on the NYT list, and suddenly everything's beautiful.
I probably shouldn't let myself get so invested. And I usually don't. It's just that I feel all this creative energy, all this synchronicity building, and it seemed as if it had all gone down the toilet. I still had a book I loved. But no one else was going to see it.
But no more Eeyore for me. Tra la, tra la. As Bob Dylan said in "When I Paint My Masterpiece" -- someday everything's gonna sound like a rhapsody.

So right now I'm rhapsodic, and I solemnly (gleefully) promise never to whine again. I finally made it.

Tra la, tra la, spin and whirl and leap. Yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!