So I have this friend. And I have this tattoo. And I have this blog. All of this will come together for you, I promise.
A couple of years ago I decided to get a tattoo. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, largely based on the fact that I was:
a) in the the tattoo parlor already, and
b) my buddy Hanny was in the chair getting hers, sucking cooly on a lollipop and acting for all the world like she was having a massage and pedicure, not being punctured repeatedly by an angry needle.
"Cinchy!" I thought to myself. And so my friend, the one mentioned at the top, sat down with me and helped me choose just the right sort of letter J*- the kind a girl could live with well into her rocking chair days. I had faith in this friend. He knows his typefaces. He and the smirking Hanny stood by looking sympathetic while I whimpered my way through it. I don't regret it at all.
Flash forward to the Now. I started a knitting blog. I emailed this certain friend, the one who knows his typefaces, and I said, "Hey! I started a blog! Check it out!" And then...nothing. And nothing. And more nothing. So much nothing that if you took all of the yarn out of my house and filled the empty spots with nothing, there would still be nothing left over. That, my friends, is the nothing to end all nothing.
Now, it's tough when you're excited about something, a creative venture, and you get no response from a friend. It's tough. But when that friend is an LA Times and Boston Globe-Horn Book Award winner and a National Book Award finalist, and that creative venture is your writing life...that really pretty much bites.
But then this package arrived in the mail. And inside? Take a peek:
There was also a t-shirt! Thanks, buddy. That's a lovely little something.
* Having the letter J tattooed on me does bring with it certain limitations. Biscuit's name does not begin with J. Therefore, no future children's names can begin with J, else imagine the scenario: "Yeah, well I know she loves me best because she's got my initial tattooed on her ass!" Or the more likely, "Well, of course you're the one who's successful, happy, and fulfilled. YOU didn't have your initial tattoed on your mother's ass! The nightmares! The panic attacks! The therapy!"