And not every book fits in a big house or an indie or a university. Not every child fits in a private school or a public school or a charter school. There is only the right fit for each individual student. It’s more like picking a school for your kid. But, in my experience, it’s not baseball. The crazy thing is, though, that no matter how far behind the curtain any of us go, most of us still hold tight to that analogy of the big name publisher to the major leagues.
If you ever ask yourself, how nice must it be to walk around like such a stupid asshole with so little to stress you out that you can whistle a jaunty little tune … Well, I can definitively tell you, now that I know much more about the publishing industry, that, yes it is nice. I was like that person you know who whistles a lot.
And my level of understanding of the publishing industry was so blissfully low. It was like the fluidity of a middle school persona, shifting with each new author I idolized. I can remember the fluctuating dreams of being an aspiring writer in my teens and early twenties. The process of going from a spiral notebook scribbler to an ISBN owner has not been dissimilar.
In the book, I write a little about the changing of dreams-about the evolution of the fantasy of a future baseball player or ballerina into the reality of an accountant or a computer programmer. After twenty-two years of dreaming, at least fourteen years of toiling at it, a couple of failed manuscripts, more than three bad relationships with literary agents, and well over a quarter of a million written (like, final draft written) words, I will be a published novelist. This winter I will hold a book with my name on the cover.
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