One day I will have sufficient grace and maturity to not post when I am irritated or otherwise grouchy. I would not suggest that one holds one's breath until that day arrives, if only because one would be very, very blue if not otherwise dead.
After a decent night's sleep, the realization that it is silly to consider my book career over at the ripe age of 36, and an episode of America's Next Top Model -- I'm pulling for Heather -- my sense of perspective is as intact as it ever is. I've decided to take it as a good sign that I've sold one-third of the print run as of March 2007. A book about depression is a hard sell, no matter how much you stress that it's only sort of about depression and is, in fact, kinda of uplifting by the end.
Instead of focusing about how less-than-stellar sales make selling book number two exponentially more difficult, I'm going to spend that energy on making the proposal better, which is the nut of what my agent said. It still flips me out that I even *have* an agent, so I must be doing OK.
What also kicked my whiney ass was this bit from a Galley cat piece about Kimberlee Auerbach and Tarot cards:
"I'm usually such a verbal person," she explains, recalling one of the
first cards that connected with her: a picture of a woman in a
birdcage, throwing herself angrily against the bars, and failing to
notice the unlocked door behind her. "It was great to be able to learn
more about myself through images."
Which isn't to say that I've given up on promoting as I can -- and, yes, Mrs. G, it would be awesome if your book group picked up the title and if everyone whose read Gothic passed it on to another person -- but I'm going to stop beating against the cage of sales being the same as success. For now, anyway. I'm sure this will change.
For thems that care, quotes of the week are coming this afternoon.
Also, for thems that are going to Rhinebeck, anyone want to go to lunch/dinner at Blue Hill at Stone Barns? It's not that far from the fairgrounds...