DA-DA-DAH (sound a trumpet makes) . . .

So I’m going to toot my own horn on this blog post today. I don’t have a lot of experience tooting my own horn, or anyone else’s for that matter― that sounds kinda dodgy. Maybe I should start over.

This post will be dedicated to the grand and noble enterprise of self-promotion. I am actually quite loathe to go down this path as drawing attention to myself makes my stomach churn but I will set aside my discomfort for the greater good of humanity. . . Okay, maybe not humanity, maybe just me. Plus, I have been unable to find anyone willing to self-promote me― that doesn’t sound right either. In any case, it turns out I am the best person out there to promote myself so I guess I will.

I have penned a delightful tale about a young girl’s quest to be a serious artist despite the unfortunate circumstances of her upbringing. The aforementioned unfortunate circumstances being she was raised in a happy family and no drama has marred her peaceful existence. This does not make for gut-wrenching, emotional art and she longs for drama to spice up her life. Her wish comes true but not in the way she expected, which makes for lots of fun and laughter.

The title of this tome is called Ordinary Me. Here is the blurb― which, on a side note, is a really fun word to say. Blurb, blurb, blurb. Okay, here it is for sure this time:

Dear Reader:

All I ever wanted was to suffer so I could be a great artist. My art teacher says you have to reach deep inside and paint what you feel. I, unfortunately, feel happy. That does not make for gut-wrenching, emotional art. It makes for nice, pretty, colorful art. How gross is that!

Then there was a fire at my school. Nothing too dramatic, I’m sad to say, but I was sent to stay with my grandparents for two weeks which caused me some suffering at least. You have no idea how weird old people are, especially MY grandparents.

I found out the following: my grandma knits purses; my grandpa is addicted to Mine Sweeper; I hate peeling apples; my Uncle Chip did something crazy with a spoon because he is seriously touched; being touched runs in the family. And that’s only the half of it!

I eventually found out that suffering is not all it’s cracked up to be and if you want to know more, you will just have to read the story.


Elizabeth Dagmar (ugh!) Johnson

If this sounds like something you’d like to spend 99¢ on (the price of the eBook) then here’s the link and happy reading.


This post was brought to you by a grant from June Dordal’s Writers Are Awesome Conglomerate.
(Just kidding, this post didn’t cost me a dime which is good ‘cuz that’s about all I got in my piggy bank.)


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