Disturbing article in Salon
“Confessions of a midlist author.”
I’m not sure how this is related, but I was watching my lure skim through the water, it’d cleared up over the weekend, and I was amused: see, there was a little fish. Tiny fish. A fish about half the size of the lure, chasing that “bright, shiny object” coursing its way through the water.
“Grow up buddy, and we’ll play catch & release when you’re about five pounds heavier.”
Right. Talking to fish again. Not even big fish, little ones.
I wandered off to the post office to put the book manuscript in the mail. I meant to head in one direction, but with a pocketful of change from the weekend, no luck on the river, and the manuscript trusted to postal employees, I just figured I would head towards Amy’s. And Bookpeople. I wandered around, trying to remember the name of that book someone recommended to me, something Tim Dorsey said. Buck Fever. Picked it up and another paperback, and headed to check out line with a fishing magazine. I looked at the total before I signed the charge slip. That magazine cost $9.99. More than either individual book.
Weird.
Maybe it’s not so weird.
That long phone conversation with my psychic friend, Sunday morning? It was about a book she’s working on, the outline’s been greenlighted by a publisher. But there were certain marketing considerations – and more important – marketing concessions.
At what point is it selling out? All I pointed out was how to fashion material that makes a package more attractive to a publisher. Not that I’m any good at that myself. I’ve stubbornily refused to change up my own material to make it better suited for a particular market.
Whatever you do, don’t quote Hamlet Act II, scene two, the character Polonius, back at me. Read the whole passage – I can be a stickler about context.