Books these days are rarely sold on their own merits. Instead they’re primped, polished, & produced as part of a package, one portion of which is the persona of the author him/herself. Alas, I fear I make a poor commodity. I’m too old, too disheveled, & too likely to speak my mind, which is risky because I’m also pretty stupid. Lucky for me, most consumers aren’t exactly geniuses either. (Uh-oh. I think I just insulted potential book-buyers. I told you my mouth can’t be trusted!) The point is, I never wanted to sell myself. I just wanted to share an amazing story I thought some people might respond to. But who am I to change the way business is done in America today? Like it or not, I am part of the package. So sell myself I must if I expect to create public demand for The Spirit Keeper, Part II.
Okay, fine. If you must know, I had a peculiar childhood. My mother was a wacky, red-haired housewife named Lucy Ricardo & my father was James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the USS Enterprise. Now what’s the matter? My personal history isn’t true enough for you? Well, it’s as true as anything can be. It’s as true as The Spirit Keeper, which isn’t exactly a true story, but, then again, it’s not exactly NOT a true story either. Truth is, I was captured by Indians when I was 17—or at least I was captivated by stories about Indians—and they actually did carry me off to worlds unknown. So maybe you can begin to see my problem when it comes to selling myself. Which self do I sell? There are so many to choose from. I guess it’s like my mom always used to say: When the assembly line of life starts speeding up, eat as many chocolates as you can and stuff the rest down your shirt.
I’m not sure how that applies here, but it’s the sort of advice that makes me hungry, so I say, let’s all go eat some chocolate and while we’re at it, let’s just pretend I’ve sold myself to you so that from now on the mere mention of my name will make you salivate in sweet anticipation.
K.B. Laugheed
. . . mmmmm, chocolate . . .
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