BMOC

Ooh. Bunk bead

Ooh. Bunk bead

Sitting in my jail-like 6X6 cubicle, I overheard the new guy at our office, who charmed the whole lot, invite one of my team mates out to happy hour. Of course there was no sliding cell door that kept me from inviting myself. Footsteps swishes away as I wondered if I was going to be included in this exclusive outing. That would be a no.

Feelings of being the geeky, nerdy, lone Chinese kid, who people thought was smart, cheating off his paper (big mistake) came flooding back into my barreled chest. Too much? All I ever wanted in high school was to be the big man on campus. Not be smart. Psh.

That's it?

That's it?

Delving into the victim mindset was something I grew up with, so I knew it was just a reactionary moment of despair. Then I kinda laughed about it after drying my tears because I was meeting my mother later, and remembered that a five-year-old girl can hold her liquor better than I could. I wish I was joking. This leads me to my first point. Don't cheat off my paper. My book smarts is limited.

One of my friends graduated from the university with a Theater Arts degree. She had showcases in New York and Los Angeles and felt she belonged in LA. She had an offer from an agent to represent her, but she declined because she didn't feel connected to this person.

Holly's wood!

Holly's wood!

Now. To get an agent in Holli's wood is probably just as hard for an author in Litty's (literary) world. So I have to applaud her. In a world where the talent, yup, I'm part o'dat group, can be desperate to get representation, they'd take whoever shows a little leg. But the power comes back to the talent, still part o'dat group, when we choose who we want to be represented by. Because the whoever represents us talented must at the least love work.

This brings me to my second point. Know you're talented.

Raaaahh!

Raaaahh!

When I researched agents, I read their blogs to find the one thing I could relate myself or my book in my query letters to them. I had found one that I liked with similar humor to me. I was like, ommahgawd, were made to be. Then I read one of his posts, which went something like this: Many people play the piano for fun and never want to play in an orchestra. Why is it that people can't write for the pure joy of it without wanting to be published?

This guy's world must be really small. Most of the people that I know who write, write for pure joy in journals, twitter, blogs, and have no want to be published in the traditional sense. I know very few who would venture into the publishing world. Hmm. Maybe my world is small. For some reason his comment turned me off.

Why?

Maybe because I wanted to be that popular guy who everyone looks up at. Which is hard since I'm not that tall.

Jimmy! Sign my ti...shirt!

Jimmy! Sign my ti...shirt!

"Hey. That's Jimmy Ng! He wrote NIGHTFALL. He's like the J.K. Rowling of fantasy."

"Dude, man. J.K. Rowling is the J.K. Rowling of fantasy."

"Oh, yeah," I thought, while tapping my bottom lip.

Do I want to become popular in the high school sense? No. Do I want everyone to read NIGHTFALL? Totally. It's a dream of mine.

But it's an important question to ask. I wanted to write it because I thought it would be fun. It was. I want the world to read it and enjoy the exhilaration I felt writing the book. I serve so people may have a little bit of escapism.