Will You Write Another Book?
“Will you write another book?” people cannot help but ask me.
It’s like asking if I plan to grow another arm? If I will go to Jupiter? If I’d like to repeat orthodonture, law school and three natural childbirths?
Writing a book is like raising a kid. The birth of it’s the excruciating beginning and an ending, like the end of a pregnancy, but a pregnancy that lasted four years. People casually ask about it, maybe coo at it sweetly. But they truly don’t care, they have their own poopy diapers to change.
Anne Lamott says getting published is not the aim if you want financial security, peace of mind or joy. “Ruin, hysteria, bad skin, unsightly tics, ugly financial problems” more likely. I’ll add “a stream of silly questions; half from whom haven’t read your book.”
Yet here I am writing. Writing a 150-word embryo of a story.
