And I've been all happy and proud of myself this week because three very small, very non-paying literary publishing houses have agreed to read my essay collection, rather than acting as if I'm trying to send them a dead, frozen cat in a priority mail envelope.
Oh well. I guess I'm not tattoed or fabulous or trendy. And I guess there's a price to pay for stepping out alone. (Yes, folks, I am my own agent. Who needs them, anyway?)
Here's a sample of Gould's writing. You be the judge. Good? How about $350,000 good?