There's Explosions, Then There's Alternate Realities

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."

WTF?

"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!"

"Why?"

 "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!"

"Why not?"

"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.