. . . I idealized authors as these romantic figures who bend over their word processor of choice (pen, pencil, typewriter, computer, some fantastical device not yet invented but most likely on Apple’s drawing board as we so-to-speak) as the rest of their life glides effortlessly along and in the background, only to intrude on their writerly thoughts when convenient.
. . . I thought of them as somehow brighter and better than your average citizen, and invulnerable to the slings and arrows of life.
Now that I am an actual author (still pinching myself over that one, especially now that Actual Book Number Two, otherwise known as Miss Delacourt Has Her Day but heretofore known in this blog as MD2, is a For Sure Thing and due to come out Feb. 2011 barring Acts of God and the total collapse of the U.S. economy or Civilization as We Know It) I know that none of that is true.
I feel that the bio blurbs on book jackets are partly to blame. “When not writing, so-and-so spends her spare time taking long walks on the beach,” or “ . . . relaxing in her enormous house” or “ . . .doing research in England” or, “something really great” as seen on the dust jacket of Hugh Laurie’s (as in House fame but formerly as in Jeeves and Wooster fame for which I will always adore him) tome, The Gun Seller, which proves to be an excellent, witty read based on the bio alone (or maybe it was the plot blurb that was so hysterical--I would link to it if I could find it again) which, if one did not realize (as I did not before becoming an author) is written by The Author.
If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now (or again, whichever the case may be) I feel uncomfortable being “glamorized” for being an author because, let me tell you, it’s not what it’s cut out to be (do people even use that expression anymore?). Like I said, those bio blurbs are at least partially to blame for my misapprehensions as to the life a published author leads.
That’s why, this time around, I am going to go rogue and write something like this:
When not writing, Yours Truly is being interrupted non-stop by needy children who have forgotten how to multiply two times four and think if they ask often enough you will produce the answer, as well as the family dog who insists on sitting at your feet at the computer desk and fluffing incessantly, none of whom care that the cover blurb and bio for the dust jacket for your up-coming novel are a week over-due all while seeming to believe that dishes wash themselves and dinner magically appears through no effort of any kind. She also loves to piddle around in the garden, sleep, and in her spare time, gain copious amounts of weight while traveling the world via the T.V. and consuming criminal amounts of peanut M&M's or hunt for any of the three pairs of reading glasses she needs in addition to her contacts in order to read her email. Miss Delacourt Has Her Day is her second vain attempt at fame and fortune via Avalon Books.
Then again, perhaps there’s a reason that “classic” is classic. Perhaps I should go with something more like this:
When not penning her novels, Your Trulyl Again, a San Francisco Bay Area native, can be found in her spectacular garden, breathing in the heady scent of mingled roses and orange blossoms, soon to be the high notes of her signature perfume to be sold exclusively at Nieman Marcus; or at the beach, her perfectly manicured bichon frise playfully nipping at her feet while her brilliant children tag along behind in harmonious amity. She spends as much time as possible in her 5,000 square foot beach cottage on the coast where she and her golden-tanned and wildly rich husband recline on a bed suspended over the tidewaters of the Pacific, the sounds of crashing waves below obscured only by the murmuring of her husband’s voice as he breathes sweet nothings in her ear.
Er . . . , perhaps sticking to the truth is best:
You Know Who, author of Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind, loves to read, write and spend time in her garden. She is grateful that her husband and children, always her first priorities, are so understanding about her attempts to fit the writing of novels into everyday life. When not parenting, gardening, or writing, she rocks the casbah with her pre-eminent skills at Guitar Hero. Miss Delacourt Has Her Day is her second novel with Avalon Books.
I have to admit, number two is looking better and better. What’s the point of being a fiction writer if you don’t get to write fiction?
(Here There be Dragons to be continued next time . . .)
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