Birthing My Baby
I had a casual conversation lately that I couldn't help be a little offended by.
The implication was that everyone knows someone that is publishing a book. The bag boy at the grocery, the zookeeper's daughter, the tree trimmer's mom. EVERYBODY has a book.
At the risk of sounding a bit bitchy, which in all fairness I occasionally am, I'M NOT EVERYBODY. Here's why:
A. My book is not self published. I didn't spend 200 bucks to print up 50 copies.
B. My book was picked by a traditional publisher. A mid-sized one to be sure, but with a bona fide New York, New York address.
C. My book was accepted at the first publisher it was sent to.
D. My book doesn't suck. Seriously.
So in all fairness, I beat the odds. There is a .2 chance of getting published. That's 1 in 500.
I haven't ever given birth and at this point, I won't. This book is the the only baby I'll ever have. And it has taken 6 years to pop her out. Right now she is sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for me to open up the UPS boxes and and meet her. I think I'll take a proud moment (or six) and go do that.