polka dot suitcase

There are times in a person’s life when they feel a bit like a literary character. You may feel lost and disjointed like Holden Caulfield. Or maybe you’ve found yourself playing Emma the matchmaker? Perhaps there’s a touch of Don Quixote-idealism about you.

Me? I’m channeling my inner Little Red Hen. You know the one. She asked her barnyard buddies to help her plant/tend/harvest the wheat, but no one would (“Who will help me plant the wheat?” “Not I,” said the <fill in your fave lazy animal here>.). So, she goes and does it herself.

Well, I’ve been pitching around a great (well, my mom thinks so) nonfiction kids’ book proposal for far too long. I’ve gotten great responses, the kind that would look awesome on the cover once the durn thing is published (“Unique!” “Very marketable!” “So clever!”). And yet…who will help me publish the book? “Not I,” said <fill in your fave publisher here>. You’d think with a couple books under your belt you could find a publisher for another one. You’d be wrong.

I’m thinkin’ it’s about time to be thinkin’ self-publish. Is this what people mean when they say something’s “a labor of love”? Huh. I always thought that was equal to “I want to sell you some ocean-front property in Kansas.” Like, sure, that’s a greaaaaaaat idea. Go for it. And then we all sat back smugly, knowing it really was a stupid idea and we were just doing the lip service thing.

But when you’re on the other side of the plow, you sure feel all noble and self-assured like the Little Red Hen, don’tcha? You’re just sure that what you’re plotting is the next great idea. (And in the case of planting wheat, it very well may be. Especially if you’re hungry.)

Anyhoo. I’m writing the thing. Here’s hoping there’s some bread at the end of the story!