Okay, before I get into this post, don’t you love that expression? I imagine myself with surgical tools having a normal conversation with someone as I poke and prod at their brain guts.
I am a complete weirdo.
First off, it was a really fun book. If you enjoy fantastical stories with worlds in another dimension that have talking cockroaches and flying ostriches and a girl searching out her true identity, then I think you’ll enjoy it. Apparently we decided to read it because James lives around the corner from where we meet and saw our group gathering one day. He threw it out there that we should read his book, so we did. And he came by halfway into our meeting to talk with us.
In the discussion I found that I was pretty impressed by how much he’s done with just one book. He gathered all the art that kids sent him and put together a show with some theater artists in the city, with a full battle scene like one in the book. He was also full of energy and was bouncing around, getting up and acting things out for us and telling crazy stories.
My kind of odd-ball.
As the meeting progressed, I realized that I would love to talk with him some more about his process and the process of getting the book published. I’m really fascinated by this in other writers and thought he might be a fun person to chat with. I second guessed myself, then thought about how freakin’ awesome of a risk it would be, and then I knew I had to approach him about getting a cup-a-joe.
After the meeting was done and everyone was leaving, I lingered behind and introduced myself, throwing out there that I had written a book and wanted to pick his brain.
“Oh, introduce you to my agent,” he said, completely serious and genuinely throwing the idea out there.
“Oh! Uh, no actually” I responded, shocked that this idea was even on the table. “I just wanted to pick your brain about your process. I’m always really interested in what other writers go through.” Realizing that I had completely shot down his potential offer, I coyly added, “But if I get an agent out of the deal I wouldn’t complain; it’s just not my original intent…”
We talked for a second more and he was really open to the idea, so I emailed him as soon as I got home, before I forgot or found a reason why I shouldn’t.