Hook ups, let downs, and the quest for a published book.
I’ve been looking into making new business cards for me. Something along the lines of the whole “finding l.a.” blog I used to have:
But of course, I’d take a better picture, and possibly wear one of those weird gloves with no fingers just because I can say, hey, I wore those weird gloves with no fingers, and I can prove it, it’s on my business card.
But then, I get to the back of the business card and it would say:
Don’t get me wrong. I love to blog. I love everything about it. I love getting to write and the fact that people are reading it. I love feeling like I might actually be funny or helpful or amusing or well dressed or something to be worthy of having you fabulous peoples read me.
But at the same time, sitting at home on my desk is this 262 page masterpiece that took me 6 years to write.
Hook ups, Letdowns, and the other Nine Inches (C)
By me. About me. Slightly changed to protect the innocent, namely, me. And of course, it is unpublished.
You have absolutely no idea (unless you are also a struggling psuedo-writer like me) what I would do to get this damn book published and be able to print out business cards that say that I am a published writer. I would love to be able to send a book to you, my favorite peoples and be like. Look. You read the blog and you comment, so here’s a copy of my book, and I autographed it for you with a little cartoon of me giving you the peace sign (Recipients of #LettersFromLA will understand that).
Thus. I’ve decided. I’m going to try [again] to get it published. I have a lot of editing to do. Rewriting, scrapping parts, filling in gaps to make my characters feasible as actual people since I hate when people bitch about character development. But it’s doable. I don’t care how many of these query letters I have to send out to get someone to read this thing.
Publish me. Or if you know someone who will, put them in contact with me, will ya?
In the meantime, please enjoy this (C)opywrited portion of my book, which is completely unedited for your rough draft pleasure:
October swung in and it was officially freezing. Jack stood outside waiting with me for my ride. My dad picked me up for our choir practice at the dorms on his way downtown. We practiced every Monday since the beginning of the year when we both auditioned for a select choir that sang with the city orchestra. A few months later, and we were just two weeks away from our first concert.
“Hey Dad.” I slid into the car, relishing the warmth of the car.
“That wasn’t Ryan.” He replied as a greeting.
“Nope, that was Jack.” He had met Jack a few weeks ago when Jack and I had hid out at my house.
“Are you with Jack now?”
“No, Ryan and I are still dating.”
“Are you and Jack dating?” He asked.
“Ryan and I are boyfriend-kind of dating, Dad.”
He laughed. “Whichever way that is. I think you should ditch them both and date the cute tenor.
We arrived at the music room to find that snacks were being served. Always a pleasant surprise. I made myself a plate and sat on the window ledge while my dad struck up a conversation with another choir member.
A few minutes later, Danny and Connor came in. They had auditioned just after me. Danny waved and came towards me while Connor bee-lined for the food table.
“Late.” I commented as Danny reached me.
“Early for singing, late for food.” Danny replied. “Anything left?”
I held up my plate and the remainders of a brownie as evidence. “One more bite.” I offered the brownie.
Danny bit the brownie out of my hand, catching my fingers in the process. “Good.” he smiled at me.
I laughed at him, holding up my thumb which he’d coated with frosting. “Messy, more like.”
Danny shrugged and took my hand, licking the frosting off me. ‘Better?”
“Not quite sanitary.” I teased him.
He sat down and patted me on the leg. “At least it tastes good.” He left his hand there. “Sweet.”
“It was a good brownie.” I agreed.
“I mean you.” And with that, Danny squeezed my leg and headed into the music room.