After my news yesterday about "Justice" being selected for Sword and Sorceress XXVIII, I spoke on the phone with Friend #1 who is trade published. There was the obligatory "Congratulations" (after I explained who the fuck Marion Zimmer Bradley was). Then she popped out, "You'll have to do a book signing."
"I don't think so-" I started, but she burbled on with, "I can help you with arrangements. There's a couple of stores I've worked with. Oh, and maybe someone from New York will read it, and you'll get an offer from a big publisher."
nuqjatlh? (Which, by the way, is Klingon for WTF.) "I really don't want-"
"Or at least an agent! Think of what an agent could do for your career!"
"What do you mean?"
"Why would I want an agent if I can make my own sales?"
There were some strange choking sounds before the portal between our worlds closed.
Later, I relayed the conversation to DH. He asked if I'd told Friend #2 about the sale yet.
"Are you kidding? No, I'm not going to tell her!"
"I don't feel up to dealing with her screaming at me about how I'm a sell-out, how I'm being taken advantage of, blah, blah, blah. The usual indie rhetoric." I sighed. "They're both nucking futz."
Maybe that's the saddest thing about our strange new world. Everyone is so sure they are right; they cannot conceive of a world in between theirs and the alleged enemy.
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