Surreal as it may still be, I’ve officially got a book tour!
First stop: Barnes & Noble in Schaumburg, Illinois.
Friday, November 6
6:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m.
Woodfield Plaza Shopping Center
590 East Golf Road
Schaumburg, IL 60173
So, I’ll be speaking, reading excepts from the book, and signing purchased copies. And not on the street corner, but in the store. Go figure. I’m excited beyond belief, and hope y’all will join me for the first of many stops on my rock n’ roll book tour.
“It’s all happening…”
It seems I’ve elevated in status. Although I’m nowhere near the “famous author who forgets her friends” level people have been teasing me about, I’ve actually surpassed the expected “chick who wrote that book” moniker.
And I couldn’t be more excited about it, because I’ve just received word that I’ll be taping an interview with WBEZ (91.5 FM, Chicago Public Radio) in October to promote my book!
Better yet, Chicago-area readers will have their choice of Barnes & Noble bookstores to come visit me, because I’m working on a reading/signing tour now!
More details soon, folks. Be sure to check out www.morningneurosis.com for book info, etc. Thanks for reading!
Juliette
“It’s a coming of age story about lesbian vampires.”
Somehow, I doubt it’s wise this early in my career as an author to resort to lying to generate book interest. But five years writing the book and another two struggling to get it published seem to have culminated in one publicity campaign where I find myself at a nervous loss for words.
I blame my editor, really. In a recent exchange, she felt the need to warn me that my book is filled with “incendiary passages” that might “alienate readers” and that I should, in my final round of edits, consider reversing some of the “sexist and biased” language.
Were I with a larger publisher, I might have refrained from responding with, “Go reread my book, and ask me that again.” If my book has any point to it at all, it’s to not compromise on what matters most.
My editor was only doing her job, I know, and she probably knew that the likelihood of my heeding her suggestion was slim. Still, my guess is that she’s on the streets now spreading the word that I’m more difficult to work with than Bukowski, which leaves me feeling both pleased and terrified.
The pleasure comes from knowing that my book will be released without any compromise – that it is, unequivocally, my words and my story. That kind of creative control was exactly what made me sign with a smaller agency: I could use their editorial expertise to better my book without losing my voice.
The terror comes from wondering if I’m too stubborn in my convictions. Will my “incendiary passages” doom the success of my book? Should I have toned them down in order to gain a broader audience?
History proves that homogenation has never particularly suited me, even in the most desperate situations. During one of my last-ditch attempts to survive in Los Angeles, I broke my cardinal rule to never, ever seek work in the most homogeneous field ever … retail.
It’s not that I had anything against retail, really. Enough people seemed to make ends meet off it. I just viewed it the same way I did my then-boyfriend passing out band flyers at that ridiculous Valley bar Paladino’s: a ton of work for very little reward, and just a little pathetic.
Had my lot of freelance work not been so sparse for so long, I could have avoided that trip to the mall. As it was, my only other work option was Bob’s Classy Ladies, and let me tell you, it was a toss up.
Both jobs would force me to hawk wares to a clientele who would most likely be unruly and demanding. At least at Bob’s I had the added benefit of security backup, whom I’d seen first hand toss obnoxious patrons out the back door head first.
Apparently, they frown on that kind of thing in retail.
If it wasn’t for the clothing discount that I hoped a mall job would afford me, I probably would have wound up dancing for dollars in a cage. Instead, I packed up what was left of my dignity and hit the stores.
My preferred choices were all a bust: Victoria’s Secret wasn’t hiring, the bookstore was closed for remodeling, and the music store was going out of business (it figured). I half heartedly filled out applications at the mall’s department stores and my favorite clothing shops, but knew that my applications would be buried under those of all the out of work actors and models who got there before me.
Two hours of desperation finally led me to The Gap. A vivid shudder rolled through me as I eyed the window display: crew neck sweaters, the dreaded khaki, and more poorly made, low slung jeans than you could fill a sweatshop with.
Bob’s Classy Ladies was suddenly looking very appealing.
Every fiber of my being screamed that working at The Gap would be a miserable fit for me. I could hear the promise I’d made during my trek from Chicago to Los Angeles – that I would, no matter what, always stay true to my goals.
That certainly didn’t include working for The Gap, but really, how bad could it be? Never mind my general distaste for customer service. Never mind my hatred of authority. Never mind that in high school, the only summer job I could get was working for my dad. I put on my biggest smile and went inside the store.
The drone working the floor informed me that the store was, in fact, hiring, and called the manager up front to speak with me. The excitement at actually having a lead rippled through me like a parasite. Suddenly, the t-shirts started to look less hideous and I almost thought I could, with the motivation of a paycheck, be persuaded to don one of the white button-front blouses on the wall. What was happened to the self I knew and loved?
A very short girl approached me with an application in hand.
“I’m Betsie, the manager here,” she said. “Come into the back and we can talk.” Judging by the height of her ponytail and bounce to her walk, I was certain she dotted the letter “I” with little open circles. It was also a safe guess that she was only recently able to legally buy liquor.
I followed her anyway, and took the seat she offered in the hallway between the dressing rooms and stock room.
“You can fill out the application in a few, but let’s talk first. Why do you want to work at The Gap?”
Is there a right answer to that question?
“Well, I’m looking for a flexible position. I’m available nights and weekends especially, and wanted to find something close to home.”
She pressed me to answer further. “But why The Gap? Do you shop here a lot?”
My skin began to crawl very slightly. I could only assume it was my integrity taking leave.
“Sure,” I found myself burbling. “I come here all the time.” I just neglected to mention my typical eye rolling and quick sprint to Lucky, which was next door.
“Well, that’s super!” Betsie cheered. “I always like it when people come in who are familiar with our line. Now, can you tell me what the last retail job you held was?”
I prayed she didn’t notice my eye starting to twitch. “Well, my last job was for a post production facility. And before that I managed tour publicity for a band. But I have a lot of experience working registers, I’ve worked in extremely high pressure environments, and I’m really adept at problem solving on the fly.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “So, you’ve never worked in retail?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I’m super sorry, but I’m afraid we need to stop here. You’re more than welcome to fill out the application, but I try to only hire people who have experience.”
“But I can do this kind of job in my sleep! I’ve coordinated seminars on cruise ships and run credit cards at giant industry trade shows and managed an entire crew on a video shoot. What makes you think I can’t do this?”
The words poured out of my mouth, and I couldn’t believe I was actually fighting for employment at a shitty retail store run by a fascist munchkin.
“It’s been swell meeting you,” she said. “But you just don’t have any retail experience. Sorry!”
I was officially a Gap reject. Once the stung wore off, I re-promised myself that I would never do anything that compromised my professional instincts. Sure two weeks later I wound up accepting a job collecting shopping carts at a local grocery store – a girl’s gotta eat, after all – but I’m proud to say that to this day, approximately seven years later, I still do not have any retail experience.
What I do have is a book that’s about to be published. And for all the “incendiary” language in it, it’s being published without compromise. Whether or not this is a good thing remains to be seen.
And just in case it isn’t, I’m working on the outline of my next book. Everyone likes a good coming of age story about lesbian vampires, right? Read the rest of this entry »