It's all in the hands of the Plastic Sky Hamster now
Yesterday's conglomeration of blankets, pillows, doll houses, and mega blocks on the livingroom floor was (Vivian informed me) an airplane. Which led us to the following exchange:
"Are you the pilot?"
"Mom! I don't know how to fly an airplane!"
"Oh. Okay."
"This plastic hamster is our pilot."
Right. Talk about a leap of faith.
But I need practice in Vivian's style of Letting Go and Letting God. Because Plain Kate -- well, Plain Kate is essentially in the hands of the Plastic Sky Hamster. It's hard for me to realize, that after laboring over the book for six years, it will now succeed or fail based on factors that are well out of my control. The people at Arthur A. Levine have deployed their editing genius and developed a beautiful cover. Scholastic's sales force is beginning to line up behind it. Soon early reviewers will decide to praise or pan it; book store buyers will decide to carry or ignore it. There will eventually be at least some of those mysterious things called readers. But me -- I'm pretty much done.
Well, sure. I'll blog about it and tweet about it and do some intense social media stuff. I'll arrange a local launch and put myself at the publisher's disposal if they want me for any publicity events. I'll work on answering "what's your book about" until I come up with a better answer than "it's about 325 pages." If called upon, I will engage in the strange practice of the book tour, where the author trails around after the book like a helicopter parent, holding its little booky hand. I will be charming -- nay, scintillating -- through it all.
But really, it's no longer up to me. This is hard.
And good.
And something I need to practice. Because I cannot fly a plane.
"Are you the pilot?"
"Mom! I don't know how to fly an airplane!"
"Oh. Okay."
"This plastic hamster is our pilot."
Right. Talk about a leap of faith.
But I need practice in Vivian's style of Letting Go and Letting God. Because Plain Kate -- well, Plain Kate is essentially in the hands of the Plastic Sky Hamster. It's hard for me to realize, that after laboring over the book for six years, it will now succeed or fail based on factors that are well out of my control. The people at Arthur A. Levine have deployed their editing genius and developed a beautiful cover. Scholastic's sales force is beginning to line up behind it. Soon early reviewers will decide to praise or pan it; book store buyers will decide to carry or ignore it. There will eventually be at least some of those mysterious things called readers. But me -- I'm pretty much done.
Well, sure. I'll blog about it and tweet about it and do some intense social media stuff. I'll arrange a local launch and put myself at the publisher's disposal if they want me for any publicity events. I'll work on answering "what's your book about" until I come up with a better answer than "it's about 325 pages." If called upon, I will engage in the strange practice of the book tour, where the author trails around after the book like a helicopter parent, holding its little booky hand. I will be charming -- nay, scintillating -- through it all.
But really, it's no longer up to me. This is hard.
And good.
And something I need to practice. Because I cannot fly a plane.