getting a book published is just
“the first of a hundred new
ways to fail.”
I am staring at about fourteen hundred new ways to fail this morning, wondering which to write about.
The head shot.
Publishing world crashing to pieces.
Review network going, going, gone, and those reviewers who do remain completely oblivious to my work.
Deep longing to find the right readers without a national forum to find them.
Let’s stick with the head shot.
I’m not a whiner, in all cases, but I do tend to believe that the few hundred photos of me since birth prove that whatever spirit I have ain’t captured on film. Or digits, or whatever today’s digital cameras use to record the particular moments when
I am not at my best.
Still, a writer needs a head shot.
Not one snapped spontaneously in the garden . . .
the spark of her (arghhsoundofgrindingteeth), so that she opens her book-doors graciously to anyone who comes knocking.
My book will take you places.
It will not fail,
you will be safe.
Couldn't I send my dog instead?
Tributary coming, summer 2012.