I am about two months behind in my self-imposed schedule, but I am getting near sending off my revamped book proposal. All my research and talking with professionals failed to prepare me for the strange, strange process selling this book would follow. But at the end of the road, I am sure that my book will find its audience. It has rabid fans in its unpublished state, so surely it could make money--don't you think?
Those of you who frequent Tehachapiltdownman and doubt that its author could write a book, let me here state some vital differences between my blogging and my booking.
Every sentence in my byucky marvel has been carefully honed to make grown men weep and grown women wet themselves laughing.
Blog posts tend to get read over a couple times before being thrown out to the world.
My book went through years of prewriting and rewriting.
I often have no idea what a post will be about until I've already typed half of it.
My book should come with a triple-your-money-back guarantee.
This blog is worth exactly what you pay for it.
But anyway, in a matter of days, I will be sending the new version of my proposal (which is dozens of pages longer than any expert will tell you one should be) back to a publisher which behaves much like the large-mouth bass that lives at the bottom of the reservoir and has grown to a length of eighty feet soley on a diet of nightcrawlers stolen from young writers' hooks. I would love to tell the story (stories) of my roundabout relation with this company's head editor but there is the possibility that Edgy works for her and if I said something untoward, I would not want to scandalize him.
Speaking of Edgy....
For those who don't know, he works at a Utah-based publication company and one of my hobbies is trying to discern which one. Since I confessed this to him, there have been nearly zero further clues and so my hobby is perishing. But I rather hope he works in an office that will see my manuscript plop into his inbox--after all, I like Edgy, he likes me, how he help but to love my book?
The truth of the matter is, I would love to see this thing in print partly so I could start doing something else. Every other creative project I embark on has byucky ballast, as my manuscript kicks around in the back in my mind saying, "Hey! You! What am I still doing here?"
And that would be a good point to end on--don't write a book unless you want to have it constantly whining at you until it's happily published. I swear, they're worse than children.