Big Heavy Baby that's Months Past Due

I sent a copy of the Ribcage book to my editor at Simon and Schuster and she wrote back...

Thanks for the copy of RIBCAGE! What a great-looking book - I look forward to reading it. Best of luck with it!

She's awesome. Especially now that work on the Eating Stella Style book is basically done. All that's left are the galleys and with those it's mainly just looking out for typos.

By my count, there are fourteen copies of Ribcage in print now. At first, I knew everyone that was buying the book on a personal level, but I've sold several copies in the last week that were to who knows who. That is a cool feeling. Especially when 95% of the material in the book is available for free online.

Funny, those few copies of Ribcage are more exciting to me than the thousands of copies Eating Stella Style will sell weekly for at least the first year.

The thing about Eating Stella Style is that my name is on the title page and I am sure that this blog will explode upon its release. People will discover my fiction--my baby. Then that other baby, the big heavy baby that's months past due--my nonfiction book, memoir, autobiography, un-diet book or whatever you want to call it. Call it what you must, because I certainly don't have a title yet! Still.

The prologue was written in April of 2004! Before Ribcage even existed, before I had any piece of writing that I let anybody read. Of course, there was Leaving Jupiter--the secret, cringeworthy novel that it is. Leaving Jupiter--it went something like this...

Luke, he’s pointing. He says, “What’s with the scary horse head?”

“That’s Lucky… town horse… he got loose… drowned to death in Carl’s swimming pool. He’s sort of a local legend. Lucky, not Carl. That’s Carl.” She points the fork at the man with the soup.

Carl waves his arm into the air and says, “You telling those boys about Lucky?”

“You know I’m telling them about Lucky you old coot.”

Carl turns his chair around to face us. He says, “Don’t listen to her. She lies. I never pushed a horse… didn’t push Lucky.”

Still, I want to self-publish the heavy baby, nonfiction enigma by Christmas. Pay some of my new bills, while getting the damn thing out and into people's hands. Pursue traditional publishers while still getting the damn thing to the people that have been waiting to read it.

Though, it still needs a great deal of retooling, rewriting and just plain writing. It's still a good 20,000 words short of any decent mark.