National Author Day
Which was yesterday, 1 November.
I didn’t know there was such a thing until I got an email from Sarah Brinker at Edward Jones.
I can tell you when I googled “Author Day,” and saw the result, I said to my Eeyore doll, which sits on a bookcase looking at me all day, “See, Eeyore, it really isn’t so bad. The slings and arrows of rejection slips, the vicissitudes of the editorial process, the outrageous fortune of submitting pieces to contests and never winning, they are all rendered meaningless by Author Day.”
“That was yesterday,” Eeyore pointed out. “It doesn’t count today.”
I turned Eeyore around so he is facing into a corner with his tacked on tail hanging over the edge of the shelf in a most forlorn manner.
And even though it is a day late, and even though I am a dollar short most days, Happy Author Day to all my writerly bubbas and bubbettes.
Eeyore says, “Happy Author Day from me too, even though it was yesterday, and today it doesn’t count.”
That Eeyore, always spreading sunshine, all over the place.