My first novel is being published by an imprint at Penguin next fall. Maybe it’s the rain, or the fall-out from an intoxicating weekend in South Beach, but today I’m feeling a bit intimidated by the brutal realities of the publishing industry, and a little frightened that I won’t be able to write another publishable novel, let alone sell it.

Insecurity sucks.

I need to be working on my current book, but this day’s grim overlay of rain, rain, rain has me procrastinating even more than usual. I’m at home with my twin sons (10 months) but later today I will have to eject myself into all that bleak weather: my sister-in-law is producing a small independent film and I agreed to go to a screening of it in Burbank.


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