Thursday, August 11, 2016

     I am always intrigued by my friends and acquaintances who say, “I’m going to write a book.” Yeah, right. I said that once. I actually did write three books, two of which I had published. Yes, I said, “had published,”not “were published.” The former means, I actually paid to have the books published. There is no glory in this, my friends, other than to hold the tome in your hands and say, “Yay. I wrote a book.” It did feel good, don’t misunderstand. It took hours and hours of writing, rewriting, editing, arranging, formatting, learning how to download the manuscript, etc. but when your book is self-published, the true literati just scoff at you. Your friends will buy a copy or two to get you off their backs. If you’re lucky, a few might actually read it. The real challenge, however, is trying to market your unknown masterpiece by a complete unknown to the world at large. Good luck with this. What you have to do is get out there and sell not just your “baby,” but yourself. This book is your baby. You gave birth to it. You labored through it, and you watch how people hold it, turn its pages and then ignore it. It’s a humbling experience, and one I’m not sure I want to repeat.

     Au contraire, a dear friend of mine, one of the few who does read my work, said in a sweet note yesterday, “It’s time for you to write another book.” Hmm. I take great pride in my writing, whether it’s considered good literature or just fun rhetoric, and I loved the creative process of seeing the books evolve from a seed to a full-grown sapling. Maybe I will write another one. Why? After all I said above, why would I? Because I can. Because I enjoyed the process, and I love the fact that anyone on the planet would read what I wrote and be inspired, humored or simply entertained by my prose. 

     In the process of those years of writing and attempting to market my work without an agent, I met many serious writers. So many have been writing for years, and one man told me he has kept over 100 of his rejection letters. Oh, my. My delicate ego would never have lasted that long. I admire and respect these people, many of whom are excellent writers, as they continue to slog along waiting for that one acceptance letter, the one we would all die for that says, “Simon and Shitster would love to publish your book.” In the meantime, I’m going to sit down this afternoon and brainstorm my final seed. After all, there’s not much time left for me on this planet, so I need to spread my sarcasm before it’s too late. Who double-dog dares me?

     Do you have a book in you?  We all have a story. Is yours with reading? Do you have the energy and the perseverance to write it? Can you market yourself? Is your story so amazing that they could make a movie out of it? What would the title be? If I have inspired you to write, this entitles me to at least one free copy signed by you and sent to me with no postage due.

     Notes to self: (Books 1 & 2 Before and Laughter/Laughterwards)

Book Title:  Laughtermath, Laughter Matters, The Last Laugh, Laugh Again, Laughter is Contagious; Spread the Virus, Old Lady Self Publishes Last Laugh. . . . . Laughter is a Verb,
A Barrel of Laughs, Three Parts Laughter, After the Laughter.. .