Disco Ball? Check.
Incense? Check.
Dollar bills? Check.
A sea of red stained lips, short skirts, over-processed blonde locks and rhinestone studded stilettos? Check.
Cigarette smoke billowing from ashtrays? Check.
Another Sunday morning mass at our Orange County, California Polish church? Check.
(this disco ball hangs several dozen feet from the altar of our church. For reals)
Who says Jesus doesn’t appreciate a good party?
You may have heard through the grapevine (me) that I have written a children’s book recently. The story was inspired by the relationship between Andrew and Ian, and is entitled Superheroes Don’t Have to Wear Capes. My ridiculously talented friend Spiral (that’s her professional name, not her birth name, which, if it were, would NOT BE ODD AT ALL) agreed to illustrate the story, and a few months ago I shared the first completed spread (that’s fancy publishing talk for two pages that are side by side) on my Facebook page.
Now comes the hard part; trying to find a publisher that will be just as excited about this project as I am. I’ve begun the exciting uber crappy process of querying potential agents and publishing houses, and as far as I know there is no bidding war yet, but I expect that to change anysecond.
In the meantime, my best friend Heather came up with a plan to have me “test run” the book in front of a real audience of *gasp* children. If you know anything about kids it’s that they have an uncanny ability to tell it like it is. Which for someone who prefers a blatant lie over a dose of ego-busting truth is just all kinds of wonderful.
So yesterday I found myself sitting in front of 60 some odd Kinder-2nd graders, a sea of knobby knees before me, my future as a children’s book author hanging in the balance. Okay. Maybe it was less Dean Koontz and more Eric Carle, but it felt intense.
I gave a little speech, including the background of the book and why I wrote it, then delved into the story.
Aside from a few little misbehaved turds (I blame the parents) and a rogue nose-picker, I had almost all 120 eyeballs on me the entire time. When I was finished, I asked if anyone had any questions, and a hand shot up in the back. I called on the boy, a 2nd grader by the name of Brent:
“Yes, you, honey. Do you have a question?”
“Great story. I just wanted to tell you that your book is gonna like be sold out.”
Folks, I think I just found my agent.
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