This month's "Bitter Ex-Florist" Episode is about as useless as a fake flower, sorry. And sorry to those of you who just love fake flowers. I think they're nasty. Not to mention totally inedible. But I had to toss up a sort of fake "Interim" episode since I've been way too busy getting The Book out there. "The Book" being Fresh Cut, the full true story of my life as a florist, in all its absurdity and horror. But hopefully you'll get a few chuckles out of this, and of course, buy my book and make me rich. Right?

So, fake flowers - why bother? I know there are times when you just have to use them. On stage in a play, possibly a film. But those things are already in the and of make-believe, so I think that's okay. But in real life? Yuck. Look, I'm not a big fan of cut flowers anyway, but if you're going to have them, at least appreciate their fragility: that peculiar "zombie half-life" as they sit in your vase of water and spend their last few days trying fruitlessly to be pollinated and propagate the species. 

Give them some love and attention as they sit dying on your kitchen table, and give reverence to the thoughts of mortality and the ephemeral nature of all life in the universe that they should inspire. If that seems to heavy for something you spent $5 n at the grocery store, too bad. Suck it up. Don't try to avoid the inevitable end by acquiring some cheap simulacrum that can't possibly hope to accurately impersonate the beauty of the real thing.

Oh yeah, and don't try to eat them. 

A couple days ago I had the most staggering experience: I received an email with a picture that someone had stolen from out of my mind. It was wonderful.

For those of you who don't know, my self-published book Fresh Cut just got picked up by awesome indie press Open Books.

What I received by email was the new book cover that had come in from my publisher’s super-talented graphic designer. I had given them only the most cursory descriptions of cover concepts I’d been tossing around, and voila – out comes this image that could have been a snapshot from my own subconscious.

How did they know? How did they do it? I can only come back to the original thought I had about this publisher: “These people get it. They get me. They get what I’ve written. It’s a freakin’ miracle.”

And it is! Check out the publisher’s home page for a book blurb on Fresh Cut and my author intro.

How do I feel about getting published? Words can’t describe. Not unless I was a professional writer of some sort. Oh crap, talked myself into a little corner there, didn’t I?

More on this subject later, but if I have a word of advice for aspiring writers, it’s this: Find where you fit. Check out the publisher’s other works. Get to know their other authors. Find a place that feels like home, and chances are it can be.