Yeah right - what a novel idea (hell, I crack myself up with the puns - it beats the hell out of moving the half congealed bacon cheeseburger off of the bed for the time being - the Garden Inn is a much more comfortable establishment when curled up next to a cheeseburger) - but I thought to myself, apparently not the only one, that I should finally sit down, put some method to my madness, and try to put forth a book idea to get it on paper, and maybe pay off a few gambling debts with a $200 advance and some sweet royalty checks...for the twelve copies that might actually sell.
Being an author has always been a dream, much like travel was, and now that I am staring at the rainy streets of Sacramento, whoa! I guess, if I really put my mind to it, I could probably rearrange the thoughts somewhere in this blog into a really nifty airplane paperback, and make a few people think - maybe spur a few thoughts, not do anything to severe, create a few laughs, and get to tie a relationship to my grainy picture on the back cover. I can see the comments now from the Julington Creek local ad paper - "Briliiantly Sold in Stores and 7-11's throughout our zip code." - That would be the extent of the publicity. A well justified $200 advance.
Organizing your thoughts is a monumental task - I read alot of non-fiction - in fact, that is pretty much all I am reading these days - the Cassanova perversion factor was exciting, but now I am reading those tame historical references that are impressive to the fifty-somethings on the airplane wearing that nice jewelry their absent husbands bought them to wash their conscience clean from years of dirty business travel and late dinners....
Once again, as with the rest of these little stories, I digress. So anyway, with the sound of Antiques Roadshow furniture guy appraising grandma's strong box, I am salivating at the thought of exposing the past two years or so of my somewhat menial writing to a sharp witted non-fiction agent whose goal in life is to reject folks who have delusions of being an author - or better yet, a published author who actually gets paid to explain to folks how life is for them, sober or not. (Break time - I find it hard to think seriously right now, I think the bed bugs are gnawing at my ankles, and have found the dabbing mouthwash around my feet seems to fend them off a little bit)
So publising a book - according to Google, there appear to be 13,600,000 hits on the web about how to go about getting this thing on paper - I suppose, that I could forego the elliptical, sleeping with the help, the indian casinos, and room service, and get one of those machines that they used to have in high school to make copies of stuff - god knows I did my share of running that steel wheel in high school, blackened fingers for telling the catholic teacher that all catholics were guilt ridden bead eaters that paid for prayer (not a good thing to say during the Reagan Revolution) - but hell again I find myself wandering. That means if I sell one book for every google article on how to sell a book, then I would be able to get that little aluminum boat and that double wide in White House, Florida and be able to pay my bills by pulling orders over at the Publix Warehouse and Distribution Center.
It is not so much anymore about the sales really, it would be nice to live in some avant garde studio in some artsy place in New York where folks where eclectic wool sweaters and those tight pants with no pleats in the front - and have my children with me barefoot in the photographs that those artistic types have hanging from their walls - yup, a best seller, or even the mediocre seller could net enough for a weekend in paradise, or better yet, maybe a few car payments. (Did I mention that everytime I think about my car, I wonder if the battery is dead as it sits in the parking garage at Jax International Airport....maybe this is why I find it so hard to stay focused on writing any sort of book). Knowing that I can express and can touch people has become what it is about. Liking to write and journal is one thing, dumping words on paper is one thing, but expressing and having people realize and recognize, and maybe even think for a moment about a good or sad or warm moment in their lives - that is what this lazy art (lazy for me - naked in an insect infested bed off of Highway 5 in Sacramento on business, yup, that is pretty lazy) means to me. Even I can go back and scroll through dusty journals and twenty year old poems and old photographs - these things do not mean anything to anyone else - they don't hold the same emotion or craft work - but the feelings behind those words - that's what I want to capture - the stoic wrinkles and spirit of Geronimo, the saxophone player on a cold night in Austin, the youthful regret and excitement of a new tattoo, the uneasy fear and silent prayer of passengers on a stormy flight - that's what I want to capture and share.
That is the head of this trail - taught to run, taught to walk, taught to do, and embarking on organizing and the business of getting passion to paper - well , I guess it is worth trying to write that book.
G
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