After I finished my first novel, I had several lengthy, insightful conversations with Oprah Winfrey. Our dialogue was the stuff of legends – and it took place entirely in my head. Oprah adored my literary masterpiece. She chose it for her book club – just before it won a Pulitzer. On national television, my comments were sparkling, my laughter magnetic. Oprah’s eyes welled with tears as I read aloud. The audience adored me.
Two years after finishing my first novel, I have yet to find an agent. I’m rewriting the book yet again – for the fourth? fifth time? – on the rare days when my post-concussion head will allow that much concentration. Strangely, Oprah hasn’t called.
I try not to spend too much time in Crazyville, but I know I’m not alone there. Most writers pay a visit . . . .
For more on my trip into — and out of — Crazyville, please join me over at Hippocampus Magazine.