Dear TB's Adoring Public,
So. Where to start other than with I FUCKED UP, followed by I MISS YOU.
Without going into the gory details -- because gory details have gotten me into all this trouble -- I told someone in my real life, another writer I'd met who I thought would get and even like TB, that I blogged. So she found me, outed me, and I spent a few days perusing real estate ads in between panic attacks.
TB is gone and I miss her already. She was a good time, no? If only I hadn't been so careless. If only... *sniff*
I hope you'll keep in touch with me. I need to write, but I can't do this anymore so I'm thinking about reviving the fiction 'zine' (yet another tumble further backward into those glory days of mine - the 90s)...if I can find what I did with my old word processor, I'm a do it. If you want in on all the mimeographed glory-to-come email your address to firstname.lastname@example.org. Subscriptions will cost you a flattering comment and a foot rub. Unless you bake. If you bake, send chocolate.
If you're all mukluk-wearing and earthy and think paper belongs on trees, you can wait for the movie.
(Thanks, guys, for all your love and support during the last few years. You certainly got me through some dark days.)