“So what’s your book about?”
Your humble blogger has been asked that question at more cocktail parties then I care to remember.
“Well,” I’d say. “It’s based on a true story: my grandmother’s bout of syphilis in the early 1930s. ”
“Yuck,” people say.
“It’s actually quite an interesting story,” I’d continue. “My grandmother ended up having a syphilitic baby that only lived for six months because it was…”
It is at this point the cocktail party guest would discover someone across the room they suddenly had to speak to.
“It’s a metaphor!” I’d say as they walk quickly away from me. “And it’s much funnier than it sounds…”
Then they would usually break into a run.
“I’ve workshopped some of it with Nino Ricci, ya know!” I’d shout after them. “And HE liked it!”
As I mentioned in my New Years wrap-up, the Gay Groom had hoped to finish the second draft of the book by the end of ’09 (an editor at a Canadian publishing house had read the first draft and requested first reading of my second – which I said would be done by the end of the year).
Sadly, what with the wedding, honeymoon, and my natural proclivity toward procrastination, your humble blogger I never finished the second draft by the end of the year.
(I soothe my conscience by remembering that Samuel Johnson had the same problem with procrastination. “I’m just like Dr. Johnson”, I’d say as I turned on the television or logged onto Twitter to see what @jtimberlake or @ricky_martin are up to.)
Thus, I have revised my last self-imposed deadline with another.
I’m going to have the second draft of his novel completed by March04/10 (as that is the day the Husband and I head to Palm Springs for our annual winter break) and send it off to this editor (who hopefully still remembers me).
After all, the City of Toronto, in their infinite wisdom, gave me a grant to complete this book. And I don’t want to let Toronto down.
THEY didn’t think it was ‘yucky’, all you cocktail party people!
And my book is not about syphilis.
It’s an examination of how disease manifests itself through a large troubled family in Hamilton, Ontario in poverty, racism, insanity, addiction, and religious fanaticism (among other less appealing things) over a number of decades in the mid twentieth century.
And did I mention it’s funny?
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom