Friend of mine reads my Aristocrats post, and it makes him think. He remembers his first date, which was at that movie. And he goes into detail. It was quite a date. (Maybe the posting will cause him to allow me to blog it, names removed.)
Oh yeah, he says, I guess it was a different movie. The Aristocats, not -crats.
I told him it was funny; he said he'd been told he should write a book. (Me too. I got funny too. Funny is my people. Too.) And I said, whuffor? Books won't make you rich. Books make, what, Tom Clancy rich? And maybe if it's made into a movie? Or, like, Alan Dean Foster. He could be rich. (I will so bet Alan Dean Foster is way rich.)
So I said, what's the point? Write a blog. You'll get paid in page views. People will Google your date. (Also your recipes. I get big snaps for my Chocolate Crinkles. Yahoo them, you poor weak baker freak. AGAIN. You lost the recipe. FIND ME.) They'll google that time your brother got to the door first and locked it. (Or did you get to the door first and lock it? I have CRS syndrome.) That's bigger than weak dollars. Never will you be remaindered. Your moment will not pass. Some day a bunch of kids will cite you in their middle school papers. ("What The Bicentennial Meant To Children," by Liam Petznick.) People read you. Some act like fans. (Why not? I'm his fan.) Unless you are selling a blockbuster or a timeless masterpiece, IT'S TIME TO FORGET THE SIGNATURE-BASED PRINTING SYSTEM. ("Quarto" means "folded over into quarters.")
Let's face it, books are dead. Or at least mashed up. Mr. Potter, the recycling department is paging you.
[Note to self: Delete entry immediately after finishing manuscript-in-progress. DO NOT SHOW TO HOUGHTON-MIFFLIN.]