And then I got a book deal and was mentioned in The New York Times. Sort of.
Announcement: I got a book deal!
OK. That’s not entirely true. But I am most definitely in a book!
Although that depends on what your definition of “in” is.
All right, fine, if you’re going to be a puritan about prepositions, I’m not so much in a book as on a book. Which still totally counts as a book deal.
My dear bloggy friend Marian Kent, who waxes poetic at Runaway Sentence, emailed me a couple months ago to tell me that her first collection of poetry was being published in the spring. I was so elated for her. And also foaming at the mouth with jealousy. And Listerine. Because I check my email obsessively, even when in the bathroom, because my name is Jessica, and I am an interwebaholic. The first step is admitting you have a problem.
The lovely Marian also was writing to say that she was putting a comment I’d left on her blog on the back cover of her book.
AND THEN I WAS SO HAPPY! …
… FOR ME! …
… and whatsherface or whatever.
The tome, “Responsive Pleading,” came in the mail last week. The second I slipped it out of the envelope and placed it on the kitchen table, Isabel sat on it. And I was all, “Must you sit on everything?”
Then I remembered that I shouldn’t be one to talk, and that my cat probably learned this behavior from me. Because I once sat for months on a thick book called “The Kennedy Men” in an effort to keep my injured tailbone from coming in contact with chairs, because I was not yet willing to face the embarrassment of buying and using an ass pillow. That shame was *so* 2011. I’m sitting on an ass pillow as I write this. I have three ass pillows. I’m kind of an ass pillow connoisseur.
Once Isabel found something else equally uncomfortable to recline on, I read Marian’s book in one sitting. And it is truly gorgeous, cover to cover. Especially the back cover.
I read a lot of blogs and leave a lot of comments. When I’m racing through my reader and launching quick remarks into virtual reality, sometimes its really easy to forget that there are very real people on the receiving end. To think that one of my comments touched someone so much that she put it on her book is pretty fucking fantastic. And *this* is why everyone should always leave comments on blog posts. Wink.
You should buy
my our her book. It contains gems such as this one, titled “Roswell”:
Maybe you were sent
to remind me of my belly
fully of bold assertions,
or perhaps you are meant
to paint my dreams
such that I remember what I am.
You are part of what lies
beyond the here,
and now I’ve found a circle.
Maybe the aliens burnt you in the dirt,
fueling you with enough evidence
that I believe in you. — Marian Kent
The day after Marian’s book arrived, The New York Times mentioned my blog in a rave review of “Blogologues: Younger Than Springtime,” a comedy show featuring material, including one of my posts, performed verbatim from the internet.
Well, by “mentioned my blog” I mean “linked to me in a nondescript hyperlink that barely anyone clicked on and that I didn’t notice the first 20 times I read it.” And by “rave” I mean “worst ever.”
It’s fine. A bad review from the Times is a rite of passage. I would have been pissed if the theater critic hadn’t given us a shitty review. We’ve gotten plenty of good press from other sources. Also, more than 30 fans of the show have left their own glowing reviews in the comments section, noting that the critic is a poopyhead. I’m paraphrasing.
So, as I was saying, I got a book deal and was mentioned in The New York Times.
Two major life goals crossed off the bucket list. My feelings about this can best be expressed by awkwardly posing like Mary Katherine Gallagher and proclaiming, “Superstar!”
My boss Paul tracked down a copy of the NYT arts section and left it on my desk at work. I took it home later that night, and before I could file it away for safekeeping to show my grandcats one day, Isabel sat on it. Because of course she sat on it.