I am spiraling. I need a new outlet. I wonder if blogging to crickets would be a good way to get started. Even though using the word “start” constitutes bad writing. Here goes.
I wrote a book. I don’t want to tell you exactly when because in my mind I want it to be one year ago from the time some fabulous publisher scoops it up and sends my life sailing into end credits. I keep thinking back to all of the bestsellers I’ve read and thought, “Who would read this? How did millions of people read this?!!!!”
The truth is many people who buy never finish. I love coming in contact with the people who have an utterly abhorrent reaction to someone who buys a book and never finishes it. I have a theory that these are the non-finishers of books and they are part of a large-scale cover up. Why question someone about a thing they are so clearly disgusted by? That’s the rub. Fuckers.
Sometimes I don’t finish books. When I do fall in love with a book, I don’t do anything until I finish it. I become immersed. I love the perverse. I love the honest. Not to brag but I have an uncanny knack for sniffing out inauthentic storytelling. People think I’m gullible but when someone is bullshitting me it’s so boring I have to just be polite and move on. Zero interest. Sorry come again. Not really.
Let’s take A Million Tiny Pieces. I read two chapters and thought none of this ever happened. I threw it away. Months later Oprah is grilling James Frey on the white couch with his hands squished between his knees. No, that is not an idiom fail—that’s what he looked like.
How about Greg Mother Fucking Mortensen? I saw him speak at the Aspen Ideas Festival. He was overweight, slovenly, abrasive, and wearing a vest. He seemed gluttonous, which is not a word for a self-proclaimed gift to the world, however, it fits a person who would stop at nothing for adoration. His bestseller is summarized this way on Wikipedia: “Three Cups of Tea describes Mortenson’s transition from a registered nurse and mountain-climber to a humanitarian committed to reducing poverty and elevating education for girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan.” I had to look it up because the only thing I remember from the first chapter is thinking it was inauthentic.
Not even one year after I saw Mr. Mortenson and his vest, my man Jon Krakauer (read Under the Banner of Heaven because it’s flipping amazing—no one relays Mormon drama quite like J.K.) exposed a number of his claims as false and G.M. was accused of mismanaging CAI funds. Turns out he mismanaged $6 million.
My book isn’t a memoir but it’s based in reality. It’s about the magical thinking involved in loving someone, in loving yourself, in loving anything really… You can see why my pitches aren’t going well. I haven’t submitted it too much yet but I’m getting there. I’m not calling out Greg and James because they’re garbage and I’m high up on a pedestal of inequality and woe. I point them out because even they found publishers. In a way I applaud their gumption. They didn’t let anything get in their way, not scruples or pride. Who needs pride? It’s so outdated in the modern world. I’m over it. BUT…
I’m not over finding a publisher for my book Commandments of a Mistress because I know there are people who won’t want to put it down. And, I hope there are millions more who buy it and never read it, because the profit is the same either way.