I'm a bumbling idiot

I got a phone call today about the project I described a couple of posts back
-- just a follow up based on some information I requested from iUniverse. 

Their consultant wanted more information about my story, and I think my tongue actually swelled up in my mouth and almost choked me to death. 

It was bad enough blogging about it, but talking about it -- I've never. 

"Well -- um -- it's sort of about a murder kind of. This pastor gets -- um -- murdered and the whole town freaks out, and -- um ..."

It was awful. Really awful. Really, really, really awful. And I kept telling her how sorry I was for sounding like a crazy person.

"I've never talked about this to anyone," I panted. "I mean not even my family or my friends, and it's just sort of hard to talk about it like this."

She tried consoling me, but that's what everyone does with crazy people, because crazy people are scary.

I spent most of the rest of this afternoon constructing a blurb that succinctly outlines my story in case anyone dares to ask me again:

Cagey newspaper reporter Rowan Fitzgerald is hiding from her past in the post-card city of Winslow, where the murder of controversial pastor and city council candidate Warren Dietrich has set off violent protests between his followers and opponents. Rowan and her womanizing colleague, Scott Lynch, determine that most everyone in town has a motive for the killing. Rowan puts her faith in an anonymous source, who points her towards her own buried past for the key to solving the crime. 

One more thing before I go: Rowan was an honor student in high school, she's 6-feet-tall, she has blue eyes, and she's fastidious. She's NOT based on me, in case you were wondering.