So, I was thinking… and yes, we’ve talked about this before, but you know how I really don’t like the title of my book that’s coming out on Nov 6th? That I wanted to call it SPAZ because, as a rule, even before I broke my whole face, I owned the forking-shirt out of awkward-nerd-girl. I was one spazzy cat according to most people. However, the chain bookseller data heavily supported us NOT calling it that so now it’s named after this blog. But I was thinking I could maybe-possibly be a little evil when it comes out.
Here’s my idea: I could sneak into bookstores with a bunch of stickers with the correct title… If I got in trouble for defacing my own book, voi-la…there’s some much-needed press and what a great story to tell my eventual grandlings?!
I’m not keen on jail—so Imma buy the books, put the SPAZ stickers on, and then slip them back onto the shelves. It’s my very own split test and then we’ll know for sure.
XOXO – Gotham Girl
PS… Yes, I did scream into an entire bag of Cheetos this week b/c of the patriarchy, but I’m better-ish now. Thanks for asking 🙂
Phew!!!… Okay, yesterday was a close one… the thought of having spent years on a book only to have it ruined with a seven-word subtitle—made this girl pretty squirrelly. I just feel like anybody curious enough to pick up my book in a store or online should feel like a welcome guest… They need snacks and like-minded company. They should never say to themselves, “Holy cats!!! I am SO in the wrong place!” Thank God funny, pithy sanity is prevailing (for the moment). I never imagined there could be such a tussle over things like subtitles…
I also want readers to feel like they could be me. On any given day, at any moment, their comfy brains could suddenly just decide to rebel for whatever reason—genetics, hormones, immunological things, stress, etc. As a single mom with epilepsy, struggling to make ends meet, I used to look around at the privileged, married moms in the private school where my daughter went and think, any one of you could suddenly be me. Any day. Strangely, it helped me to accept them (and our situation) a little more… and then, of course, I also just loved these other moms. Even the judgy ones whose daughters I could see were on the cusp of morphing into mean girls. But blerg… it’s so freakin’ complicated and intersectional and there’s no one right way to do things.
In the meantime, it’s beautiful as hell here and Gary (the beaver) was just looking over at me like, “Why aren’t you writing faster?” He’s finishing a late brunch… that guy’s a day drinker if there ever was one…
In the meantime, I am being a good citizen and filling out all of my book marketing forms with frequent flyer numbers to Kenny Loggins and a whole marathon Yacht Rock playlist. Stay rad, Lovelies… xoxo – GG