Have I said before that I went a little crazy during my self-help experiments? I did, what with the constant focus on my flaws, my actions, me, me, me.
So, with that under my belt, this is what I'm not doing:
Obsessively refreshing the Amazon page to find out Practically Perfect's ranking;
Obsessively reflecting on Barbara Kingsolver's new book and how everyone I know is reading it and how I myself have purchased a copy of it and how I know that many many people reading her book might like mine and why she is on the bestseller list and how she totally deserves it and, damn it, it's not a competition and this is why no one (okay, Brandon) likes to play Scrabble with you, Jennifer;
Flipping to the book review section of any of the three trillion periodicals that come to this house and scanning for one title (and we all know which one that is);
And reflecting on the careers and career timelines of writers I admire, as if my fate lies somewhere scrambled in this data .
I'm trying, anyway.