by Suzanne Flaig

Created on: February 10, 2009

A month ago, I sold my first novel. Now, nobody will talk to me.

My writer's group, those green-eyed hussies who tore my manuscript to shreds and warned me not to submit, moved their meeting place and conveniently forgot to notify me.

My best friend, a former aspiring writer who gave up when her pile of rejection letters blocked the path to her computer, hides in her bedroom clutching a gallon of Chunky Monkey ice cream and refuses to take my calls.

My family has disowned me. They accuse me of airing our dirty little secrets, even though I changed the names to protect the guilty.

My neighbors run the other way when I walk out of my house, or shout, "Yes, you already told us, you're a published author. Enough, already."

Perfect strangers back away when I go into my 30-second elevator speech, fearful that I'm going to solicit their last $24.95 and they won't have money for groceries.

Everyone on my email address list has suddenly acquired spamblockers that don't allow my messages to filter through to their mailboxes.

The mailman refuses to pick up my outgoing mail, claiming that the postcards and promotional material I sent out weighed down his sack.

My agent has threatened to drop me if I don't stop bothering her every hour.

My publisher has threatened to cancel my contract if I don't stop calling every day, asking for updates on the sale of my book.

What's a girl to do? Is it my fault that I wrote the next blockbuster? That my talent as a writer outshines mere mortals? That I've catapulted into the ranks of high profile writers like Joyce Carol Oates, Stephen King, and James Patterson? I'm the hottest new author to hit the bookshelves since J.K. Rowling. Trust me. I'm a genius. Everybody says so. Well, I say so, anyhow. And I ought to know.

Of course, they warned me. I've attended plenty of writer's conferences. I've heard all the platitudes. "The writer's life is a solitary one." Not a problem, I'm my own best company anyhow. "Writing the book is the easy part, marketing is the hard part." What? Me worry? My novel is the best thing out there. It'll surely sell millions without all the bother of book signings, interviews, and all that marketing stuff.

There is one slight fly in the ointment. My publisher wants a second book finished by the end of the year. How am I ever going to top the first one? I don't even have an idea for another novel. But I'm not worried. I'll have plenty of time to come up with something inspired. I can spend every waking hour at my computer, pounding out the next Great American Novel.

After all, I have no friends, no family, no distractions . . .

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