That other Christine


It’s happened a couple of times now, so I suppose I need to say something.

I realize it’s a kind of unusual name, and the chances that there would be two of us with the same name who are both writers is fairly slim, but the fact is that I am not that other Christine Mehring. She is an accomplished Associate Professor of Art History who writes a great deal of apparently well-received books and articles concerning fascinating artists about whom I have never heard. I am simply a novelist. She lives somewhere around Chicago. I live in rural Nevada. From what I can tell, I suspect that my hair is longer. It is an odd experience to google your name and find it associated with someone else, who probably, quite justifiably, thinks it is their name. Such is life. Anyway, if you have wandered in looking for the other Christine, in the words of Bob Dylan, it ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe. Try the University of Chicago.

Who? What? When? Where? How?


The five questions of journalism? Nope. That’s me trying to figure out how to promote a book. I’m just the tiniest bit completely overwhelmed. Blogs, tweets, blog tours, reviewers, give-aways, promotions, contests, signings, and on and on. How does anybody get anything done? Seriously, a person could spend all day every day just keeping up with publishing industry blogs. There has got to be some balance to be found here. Something between living in a cave and only coming out to deliver manuscripts (admittedly my preference) and never finishing another book because I’m too busy trying to sell this one. I think I need to take a break from thinking about this, maybe just for a day or two. I’m going to step away from the laptop and hole up with the brand new spiral notebook I bought yesterday. Time to start pulling the next book out of my head.

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Dear Diary,


In a box somewhere I have probably a dozen journals from my teenage years. They all start with some variation of “Here I am starting another diary. I really mean to keep at it this time…” followed by five or six, sometimes even ten, pages of painfully self-conscious descriptions of high school life, followed by a lot of crisp clean blank pages. I hope this time will be different. I mean, for one thing I did finally make it out of high school (we’re not going to talk about how long ago), and for another, I’m standing in the doorway between struggling wannabe writer and really truly published author. I like it here. The path to this doorway has been long and mostly uphill, but it has also brought me to some fantastic places and into the company of exceptional people.  I’m excited to step through and continue on. I hope you’ll drop in from time to time and say hello.