June is for tasting mouth-watering red cherries (Yum!) and also for spring cleaning. I had my carpets cleaned, tackled some closets, and gave a carload to Goodwill. And, I’m pleased to let you know, “an attempt was made” in cleaning my messy office where I tend to print the internet.
If you’re wondering whether I was able to get a major publisher for The Spy from Beijing—no word yet. Be patient, I keep reminding myself.
While going through things in my office, I came across a story about Uncle Merle who was known for playing pranks. One time he played a joke on his aunt Cecelia. (In the days when there was only one bathroom in the house.) He constructed a dummy, placed it on the toilet, and waited nearby to see what happened. Cecelia cracked the bathroom door open slightly to see if it was vacant and abruptly pulled it shut, apologizing. Then she kept pacing the floor and wondered when it would be vacated. Nearby, Merle was biting his tongue to keep from snickering. When Cecelia found out what Merle had done, she thought it was such a good joke she later played the prank on her husband.
Anyway, Merle inspired me to play a prank on my parents and siblings which I wrote about in an essay for Chicken Soup for the Soul. One of their topics included “Pranks that Worked. Gotcha!” They plan to publish the book in 2025. My prank episode is short, but too long for this newsletter. Anyone who’s interested just hit reply, and I’ll send you a copy.
On another note, I decided to go back to the original title of my memoir, Spies, Lies & Psychosis. The reason is that it fits better with my brand of selling spy novels. I also rearranged some of the text. The new cover is attached. It’s published through Ingram. You can order a copy from any bookstore or online from Amazon.
Purchase on Amazon
Purchase on AuntiesBooks.com
Not exactly exciting that my first book had a stigma attached to it. I had some bizarre and shameful experiences while living in San Francisco for six years and in the Washington, DC area where I lived off and on for twenty years. Someone sent my psychiatrist a pipe bomb in the mail in Washington, DC. It not only ruined his life but also mine. A new psychiatrist weaned me off a drug I needed which caused mania in me.
During that brief period, I had the delusion that I was the world’s greatest writer and that I would receive a million dollars for what I’d written. I hadn’t even written a full manuscript, but because I knew a bestselling author who made a million dollars from books he wrote, I thought I wouldn’t need the money, so I emptied out my retirement accounts, ran up my credit cards and followed an old boyfriend to Florida. He did not love me and when I came down from my high, I ended up in poverty for the third time in my life. I had $500 left to my name after I declared bankruptcy. An unlucky roll of the dice.
Mental illness isn’t pretty but I’m happy to report I’ve been stable since. For over forty-five years now. I guess you could call that success. A lucky roll of the dice.
Wishing you a lucky roll of the dice!
Until next time…
