There is a book manuscript out there sitting with a publisher and the MS has my name on it. They emailed me and told me they had it – many months ago– and I have heard nothing since.
That may be a good thing, or it may be a bad thing. And, I gather from writerly friends that such inaction is kind of the norm. So I’ll live with it and see what happens.
And, forever resolute, I have another manuscript that I am about to send off today. And I’ll see if I hear about that one – or not. Once that one has gone I only have two to go as I lay myself bare to the fates and whims of the gods.
And so it goes. But I am going to be positive about it all and I am going to fantasize that they love the MS as much as I do, and as I have shown through my dogged editings of the sort, again known to writers, as a powerful means of procrastination. If you are editing you are doing something productive and you are also avoiding laying your soul raw to the whims of some publisher.
But let us conjecture that in the best of all possible worlds, they love it and want to publish it. I mean, other people get published – people get utter shit published, so why not me? Not that my manuscript is utter shit; it’s brilliant.
So, they publish me (in my fantasy), what will that bring me? Here is what I conjecture the fallout should be.
– Fame: I will be written up in the press and will be interviewed by the media, both print and electronic. You’ll see me time and again on local news broadcasts to the excessive degree that you will be prompted to ask: “Is that asshole on again?”
– Wider Fame: When I take time out from my book signing chores I will likely be invited onto the talk show circuit. I am only sorry that Dave retired but perhaps they could bring him back for a one-off, just to boost me and my book. CBC will, of course, be a natural and I can be as pretentious and pseudo-intellectual with the rest of them, as seems to be their wont with a lot of author guests. The rest of the time I will be wined and dined by notables and invited to chi-chi cocktail parties in the Big Apple and in Mayfair. A presentation to the Queen may be a bit much to ask for, but you never know.
– Groupies: Rock stars get groupies so why shouldn’t I get intellectual and soulful sweet young things throwing themselves at me and making offers of favors that can only make me ask myself, why didn’t I get into this racket when I was younger, unmarried and maybe a teeny bit more studly?
– Icon status: The idolatry accorded certain authors is much deserved. It’s a hard job of work writing a book and I am always prepared to accord favorite writers whatever kudos I can. I am only sorry that Douglas Adams has passed from the scene for I know I would kiss his ring finger if I could.
– Hanging out with the Big Guys: Once I am a respected author I can wander over to Bill Bryson’s house, have a coffee with him and the two of us can ruminate on the wonderfulness we have brought to the world of readers.
– Get back at all who doubted me: I can turn to all those former teachers and academics and say: “In yer face. I’m a famous writer and you’re not. Nyah!”