Wednesday, January 6, 7:00 a.m.
By now we’ve all heard how Stephanie Meyer got the idea for the Twilight series from a dream. She’d never written anything before, but on that particular morning she woke up with a fantastic vampire story in her head. All she had to do was just sit down, write it out, and boom — now America’s buying sodas with shirtless werewolves on the cup.
Anyway, ever since I learned of that story, I’ve been hoping and praying that the same thing would happen to me. I mean, why should I waste all of this time during the day trying to think of great stories when I could just snuggle up in bed and let the ideas come to me in the midst of my sleep apnea? So each night, I put on my mismatched socks, my BreatheRight nasal strip, and my $50 pimple cream, then I turn off the light, and wait for a bestseller to sneak into my brain like a highly literate cat burglar.
And last night, it finally happened.
I woke up this morning with a book idea fully formed in my groggy, little head. I know—isn’t that amazing? So now, without any effort whatsoever, I already have the characters, the setting, the plot, the cover art, and the fast-food marketing tie-in for my future moneymaker all figured out. Oh, Lawdy, somebody call the doctor, cause this shit is done.
Right now I’m headed off to my desk to type up my story, then I’m going to stick the pages in an envelope and send them off to a Big Publisher this afternoon. If things go well, I should be in Barnes & Noble by Friday.
See you on Oprah, everyone!
Wednesday, January 6, 7:10 a.m.
Me again. Well, apparently, the idea that came to me last night in a dream didn’t turn out to be such a good one after all. I mean, I totally think there’s an audience out there for my book RADICCHIO: THE VEGAN DETECTIVE, but it seems that a few other people (my husband, my mother, my father, my sister, my other sister, my neighbor, my lawn guy, my kid, my other kid, that guy on the skateboard, the stoned crossing guard, the other stoned crossing guard, the CEO of Whole Foods) happen to think otherwise. In fact, most of them just laughed and checked my pupils when I told them about it. They didn’t even like my plan to have Jake Gyllenhaal play Radicchio’s arch nemesis Mr. Gristle in the film adaptation. Unbelievable.
Therefore, it looks like now—after ten whole minutes of writing—I have no choice but to just put my magnum opus on the shelf, along with its sequel SWISS CHARD: THE REVENGE, and hope that my dream gets the attention it deserves some day. Alas, we can’t all be Stephanie Meyer.
Which is why tonight before I go to sleep, I’m going to put on my mismatched socks, my BreatheRight nasal strip, and my $50 pimple cream, then I’m going to blast some Motley Crue, smoke a bowl of peyote and slam Extra-Strength NyQuil until I pass out naked on the floor.
I hear that’s how J.K. Rowling got started.