The Power of the Human Spirit Can Bite Me
March 16th, 2010
The publishing industry moves at glacial speed. So while I wait the requisite four to eight weeks for agents to lay judgment on my work, I have more than a few hours on my hands, hours in which I have to point my obsessive nature in some direction. It’s best when I can get it pointed towards writing and not, say, BigMuscleBear.com. But most of the time I just find trouble. For a while I trolled the web, hunting for more literary agents, tracking book deals on publishing sites and in general making myself sick with anxiety. I’d count the number of memoirs published by famous people versus the number published by non-famous people (Not encouraging). Or I’d read the one-sentence descriptions accompanying each book deal: follows the author’s journey from adored high school athlete to violent, drug-dealing wife beater and, after several suicide attempts, his miraculous recovery, revealing the overwhelming power of the drug to destroy and the power of the human spirit to override the journey towards destruction. I’d roll my eyes at the cheesy, life-affirming pattern they all seemed to follow, then of course wonder if my own book did the same. Cue despair. I’d wonder if I should tinker with my book to make it more marketable. Then I’d swing 180 degrees and say, “FUCK THE MARKETPLACE! FUCK YOU, YOU WHORISH FUCKERS!” It all felt like a flashback to when I was waiting for word on grad school acceptances. Then I turned off the internet and found serenity while writing a television pilot. Then I picked up my book again and tinkered with it. Then I wrote this. Welcome to my head. I don’t recommend it.
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