I sort of just have to come out and say something.
It might not be pretty, you might not agree with it, and you might not like it, but it needs to be said before I write anything else. If it softens the blow, at least know that I feel like a total knob about it (that’s a lie…I feel awesome), and I’m consumed with guilt knowing that something that a ton of people are dying for just fell on my lap (some guilt…but mostly happy explosions of unicorns).
Right. So. On the way home from a road trip with my mom, just after she tried to make me wear her sequined, orange shawl to avoid getting a sunburn through the car window and upon my refusal shouted: “…not gay enough, more like!”, and just before I spent the next four days pacing back and forth in a house all to myself, I got an email.
An email from a literary agent.
An email from a literary agent in New York.
An email from a literary agent in New York who wants to work with me on a book.
I don’t know what your first reactions are like right now but I can tell you that mine were something along the lines of the following:
1. I’M GOING TO GET TO DATE JAKE GYLLENHAAL!
2. OH SHIT SO MANY BLOGGERS ARE GOING TO HATE ME!
3. OH SHIT I’D HATE IF THIS HAPPENED TO ANYONE BUT ME!
4. OH MY GOD THE NERVOUS POOPS!
5. NO BUT SERIOUSLY JAKE GYLLENHAAL?
Yes. It’s true. A real live professional overlooked all my flaws (as if I have any…), saw a glimpse of potential (dumbstruck by my modelesque appearance and flexible morals, no doubt), and asked if I might be interested (ummmmmmmmmmmFUCKYES) in working with her team to come up with something amazing. That is, my dream of maybe potentially perhaps becoming an author someday that I’ve had since I was five might just actually stand a chance at coming true – unlike my dream of becoming a Detective who was also a dog.
It’s not a book deal, there are no promises, and there are still about 3598155 ways that I can screw this up, but it’s a glimmer of hope that’s about to send me on the craziest ride of my life. Aside from that, you just need to know that this agency also represents 50 Cent, Eminem, the guy who had Pluto delisted as a planet, and Lance Bass.
Guess which end of the spectrum I’m on.
In closing, I will take a handful of questions before retiring to a truffle oil bath administered by the entire Spanish World Cup team, each wearing naughty football uniforms made of edible gold – a.k.a. what my life will soon be like assuming that my book will be as widely sold as The Bible which it totally will and don’t you dare try to tell me that it won’t:
- Are you going to be famous? Undoubtedly.
- Will you remember the little people? Most certainly not. I’ll be doing too much coke.
- Can you give me your agent’s contact info? Um. Can you let me dupe her into working on MY book first?.
- How do you go about writing a book? Don’t worry, my ghostwriter will handle it.
- What kind of book will you write? An awesome one that you will love.
- What’s your favourite colour? Stop wasting my time. I’m busy.