So, I finished finished my novel. I’ve written my query letter and it’s going out tomorrow. Now, time for a treat.
I’ve long promised myself “the handbag of my choice” upon completion of the novel. This served as serious motivation in a writing drought, or two. (I’m a rare breed — one who works with the poor and still finds time to worship Louis Vuitton. Confused? Um, yeah. I’m obviously still working out that balance of Africankelli and Americankelli.) Me likey purses. And I’d like to purchase a great, classic bag that I’ll have for ages — something that will remind me that it doesn’t matter if Oprah thinks this is a good story. It is one I wanted to tell.
A few friends I’m considering inviting to the party:
Michael Kors, in either color,
and the king himself — Louie Louie.
Aw, who am I kidding? I talk a big, fashionable, Devil Wears Prada talk, but when it comes right down to it, I’m not spending $800 on a purse until I get my invite to Oprah’s book club. And then I’ll have to buy one of those houses in Nicaragua too, to feel a touch more balanced. Because really, philanthropists who wear Jimmy Choo’s aren’t horrible people. They are just well dressed, generous people. Right?
P.S. If you are looking for a Phoenix gal who actually has written and sold a book, Martha’s got an ISBN number. I can only imagine the awesome Italian food and fountain of booze at her signing party.