erastes

To give dedications to? Make people up? It just shows you how few people I know when I have less than ten books out and have now run out of people.

I look at the huge lists of people/friends in books such as Jim Butcher's or GRRM's and realise that er, perhaps I should have more friends. Never been good at that trick, though, that's the trouble. I had ONE best friend through school from 11 onwards and didn't make any extra solid ones until I went to live in London. Many acquaintances and people who I knew for a little while, but ships that ultimately passed in the night, for however long their passing. I don't have the trick of staying in touch with people, I suppose.

My mother used to receive and send, (and I suppose it's the same with most normal people) Christmas Cards to dozens of people I'd never heard of, and people who she only heard of once a year via Christmas card and I never saw the point. I wish I did, I feel perhaps there's a stratum of human existence that I'm unable to join, and I feel that about many things, such as hen-nights, window shopping, coffee mornings, small-talk. Perhaps authors have this disassociation, some of us, where we feel we are constantly looking through a plate glass window to observe humanity, pressing our noses up against it, but never actually being a part of it.

Woah. That's a bit much TMI, coming from me. No, I'm not maudlin, although it might sound it—just rather embarrassed that I am having trouble dedicating a book. Perhaps it's because this book was written quite a while ago before I made the many friends (that I do consider just as much friends as the few flesh and blood ones I've made) online.

I think I know who to this time, though. Gawd knows about the next one though! Perhaps I'll pick random names from world history. *snort * To Abraham Lincoln. You should have tried the events on page 110."