I have to tell you that every time I sit down to write a post about the prospect of turning the ghost stories into a manuscript that could then be submitted to publishers who will then write me notes laughing in my face and telling me how stupid I am and how I have no talent and how, perhaps, I should just return to whatever it was I did before I became literate, I about want to throw up.
I did force myself to consider publishers last night. I think it’d be most appropriate for a small, regional publisher, someone who doesn’t mind if their primary market is people in Nashville and who does books that aren’t run of the mill. And I tried to think about what I want to do before I submit it. I’d like to make sure I have it “Bobbie’s Dairy Dip” and not Bobby’s. I really think I want to write a different story for 28. I think “Hickory Hollow Mall” is just too damn close to “Laura” in terms of themes.
I’m trying to decide about art, which I think it does need–if I want to ask the Butcher to do some drawings, if I want to see if I can sucker Chris Wage into doing some photographs, or what.
And I’m trying to think about how to order them. Online, they’re either one at a time or you can skip around on the map, so order isn’t as important. But do I move “The Devil Lives on Lewis Street” farther back? It’s a hard act to follow. But if “The Cat that Says Ma Ma” doesn’t come after it, doesn’t it lose some of its punch? So, then, I wonder, should it come forward?
And when I think about finessing things, I feel excited about it again, like maybe it could be the nice little weird thing someone would want to read. After all, the stories almost got me on NPR.
But when I start thinking about trying to find a publisher… ugh.
Reassure me, internet, or kick my butt, or something. Get me over this hump.
Tiny Cat Pants 