It Was Just Some Mild Depression!
Last Thursday, I noted in this blog that I was feeling weird. I wasn't sure if I was sick or depressed. I was really hoping I was depressed, because after all that Christmas shopping, I was certain I didn't have the money for a visit to the doctor. Well, my holiday wish came true - it was just some mild depression! Yay! No tongue depressors or antibiotics for me! Whoopee!
I know what you're thinking. Jim, what the hell could you have been depressed about? You have a hot girlfriend, all your limbs are intact, and there's still a slim chance George Lucas will one day release the original, non-special edition versions of the first "Star Wars" trilogy! What gives? Well, you're right on all points. There is something, though, that threw me off my game for a while.
Earlier this month, I was notified that my literary agent was taking a leave of absence to finish a book of her own and that my two projects, Star Wars Ruined My Life and the untitled soda book, would soon be taken over by another agent at PMA Lit & Film. Since then, I have heard nothing - absolutely nothing - from anyone at PMA. My phone calls and e-mails have not been returned, and I have no idea what's going on. I want desperately to know, but like an uninterested lover, PMA ignores my pleas for explanation and comfort.
It could be worse. I have an aspiring author friend whose agent dropped dead in the middle of editing his book. That was a couple of years ago, and he still hasn't straightened that mess out. I guess my biggest fear is having to start over, stuffing my proposal into manilla envelopes all week and mailing them to people who have no idea who I am. I spent more on postage than gas back then.
I want to give PMA the benefit of the doubt, but come on - you're a damn business, and I'm your client. You can't even shoot me a "things are pretty fucked up right now, get with you soon" e-mail? That's messed up, son. I spent two years busting my ass on that Star Wars book. Can't you at least try to act like it's on your list of priorities?
So, you can maybe understand why I briefly sunk into a rivet of depression. I didn't feel like moving, let alone decking the halls or washing the car or flossing the teeth. I really didn't feel like updating the blog, but I forced myself to. This stupid thing is supposed to be my ticket to fame, right? It was tough, but I did it, even though I felt like I was trying to squeezing a river of blood from a grain of sand.
Luckily, Christmas day snapped me out of my funk. It's amazing how a few hours of swapping gifts and chewing candy canes with your immediate family can rejuvinate the soul. I've got grease in my garter again. I guess I owe mad thanks to Jesus, for being born and influencing people to create this comforting holiday in his honor. Thanks, J.C.
The PMA situation is still aggravating like Iggy Pop is wrinkled, but what are you gonna do? It can't go on forever. Something will happen - either someone new will pick up the torch for JG2, or my ass will get stone cold dropped. Hopefully the former, not the latter, but I'm prepared for both. Rome wasn't built in a day, every bowl of sugar has a few lumps, even cowgirls get the blues. I'm ready for whatever they throw at me.
On a completely unrelated note, "Rubber Biscuit" by the Chips kicks ass.
I know what you're thinking. Jim, what the hell could you have been depressed about? You have a hot girlfriend, all your limbs are intact, and there's still a slim chance George Lucas will one day release the original, non-special edition versions of the first "Star Wars" trilogy! What gives? Well, you're right on all points. There is something, though, that threw me off my game for a while.
Earlier this month, I was notified that my literary agent was taking a leave of absence to finish a book of her own and that my two projects, Star Wars Ruined My Life and the untitled soda book, would soon be taken over by another agent at PMA Lit & Film. Since then, I have heard nothing - absolutely nothing - from anyone at PMA. My phone calls and e-mails have not been returned, and I have no idea what's going on. I want desperately to know, but like an uninterested lover, PMA ignores my pleas for explanation and comfort.
It could be worse. I have an aspiring author friend whose agent dropped dead in the middle of editing his book. That was a couple of years ago, and he still hasn't straightened that mess out. I guess my biggest fear is having to start over, stuffing my proposal into manilla envelopes all week and mailing them to people who have no idea who I am. I spent more on postage than gas back then.
I want to give PMA the benefit of the doubt, but come on - you're a damn business, and I'm your client. You can't even shoot me a "things are pretty fucked up right now, get with you soon" e-mail? That's messed up, son. I spent two years busting my ass on that Star Wars book. Can't you at least try to act like it's on your list of priorities?
So, you can maybe understand why I briefly sunk into a rivet of depression. I didn't feel like moving, let alone decking the halls or washing the car or flossing the teeth. I really didn't feel like updating the blog, but I forced myself to. This stupid thing is supposed to be my ticket to fame, right? It was tough, but I did it, even though I felt like I was trying to squeezing a river of blood from a grain of sand.
Luckily, Christmas day snapped me out of my funk. It's amazing how a few hours of swapping gifts and chewing candy canes with your immediate family can rejuvinate the soul. I've got grease in my garter again. I guess I owe mad thanks to Jesus, for being born and influencing people to create this comforting holiday in his honor. Thanks, J.C.
The PMA situation is still aggravating like Iggy Pop is wrinkled, but what are you gonna do? It can't go on forever. Something will happen - either someone new will pick up the torch for JG2, or my ass will get stone cold dropped. Hopefully the former, not the latter, but I'm prepared for both. Rome wasn't built in a day, every bowl of sugar has a few lumps, even cowgirls get the blues. I'm ready for whatever they throw at me.
On a completely unrelated note, "Rubber Biscuit" by the Chips kicks ass.
posted by james at 1:05 PM
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