Slide natasha deen author - change the world one story at a time natasha deen author - change the world one story at a time natasha deen author - change the world one story at a time

But I figured I would do an encore of the Scribes Post:

As you know, I’ve been in Toronto Canada visiting my nephew who is even cuter in person than his pictures would suggest. I don’t think there’s anything cuter than a two week old baby, who hasn’t quite figured out that his arms and legs belong to him, and who absolutely freaks (in the most adorable manner) when the sleeves of his shirt ride over his fingers, making him think he’s lost his hand.

But as wonderful as he is, and as much as I love gorging on my mother’s cooking (am currently munching on a thick slab of cake that she sent me home with), the truth is that by the end of the week, I couldn’t wait to get back home. In nine years, I haven’t eaten an entire meal because I share all my food with my boys (furry-faced and no), and I was looking forward to heading home, and playing, “HEY! WHO TOOK THE SLICE OF ROAST BEEF OFF MY PLATE?!”

Sunday night and we’re getting ready to watch a Hindi movie (by the by, if you want romance and drama, you must pick up a Bollywood movie. Nothing beats the music, dancing, or the fact that despite it being 2007, women (rich women with resources surrounding them) will still die in childbirth while the heroes can fall off cliffs and only suffer a cut on the forehead), and I decide to check my email one last time.

Being an email whore, however, the words “last time” are used in the loosest sense of the word. As in “check for the last time this hour/half-hour/minute/second.

Anyway, there in the inbox is a note from one of the editors of The Wild Rose Press. I’m tired, in need of tea and cake, so I don’t even think anything when I open it up–let alone, remember that I submitted a short story to them last month. The letter begins to tell me the things that need to be beefed up, and I’m nodding along because the comments are right on the money, and I’m thinking, Gee, I hope I can have a chance to resubmit, when I reach the part that says, “Contract attached. Congratulations.”

My world stops.

Wait.

What?

Contract? CONTRACT?

So, I start at the beginning of the email and re-read…and yes, CONTRACT!!!

HOLY CRAP! I’ve been CONTRACTED–which in any other circumstance is a terrible thing, but in writing, you want to contract as many things as possible. 😀

I’ve been working on my edits, and I have no clue about the release date. Since most of the action takes place around Christmas, however, I suspect it will be out in fall.I can’t think of anything else to add.

Feeling enormously pleased. Happy I stuck through with writing, and immensely excited because there’s this dynamite pen at Staples and I promised myself that as soon as I was published, I would buy it as my gift to myself.

My darling husband wants to buy me an HP iPac HW6945 (since I’m also an electronic sucker), but I think I’ll hold off, on account of if I wait a couple of months, the price will drop. Heck, I may want all the toys known to man, but I’m still a woman, and I want them at a decent price!So, it’s a dinner date for us, and if the weather holds out, a hot air balloon ride to celebrate.