Freakin' Oprah. Goin' and cancelling her show well before I can possibly have a chance to appear and promote my autobiography about pediatric cancers (tentatively entitled Butterflies and Barbie Band-aids and a total shoe-in Oprah's Book Club selection. Seriously).
Speaking of said autobiography, it's been in arrested development for quite some time. I gotta quit screwin' around with it and get it into the hands of people who can see it to print. But before I can do that, I have to actually finish gathering the short anecdotes from friends and family that will help tell these stories from multiple perspectives--kind of like Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, except not boring.
But this whole not-having-Oprah-as-a-potential-publicity-conduit (even if I needed to give away a copy to everyone in the audience) is a serious glitch in my plan. Don't tell me I gotta go on the Tyra Banks show now.
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