Other People’s Toast
Why does other people’s toast smell so great, but when the mouth-watering scent inspires you (and by “you”, I mean “me”) to get off your backside and go put some bread in the popper, the end product neither tastes nor, in fact, smells as good as the other person’s toast?
And this isn’t a metaphor, a “grass is always greener” ponderation. (Yes, I just made that word up.) I actually want to know why other people’s toast holds so much delicous promise, but my toast just seems like crunchy bread.
I thought that when I became a published author, I’d be full of wisdom, advice, and pithy metaphors with life lessons for the masses. After all, before publication, I always looked to published authors for clues on how they got through the magic door. But now that I’m two weeks away from the Lyrical Press release of Ordinary Angels, and looking forward to my exciting new leap into indie publishing with two further novels this year, I realise that I’m just no shade of expert at all.
Recently, I’ve been organising a virtual book tour for April and beyond… interviews, spotlights and stops along the way to help increase my exposure out there in the vast ocean of world wide webbiness. A woman wrote to me and said she’d love to host me on her blog, but she wanted me to pitch her on a topic in which I am an expert, specifically to do with book marketing.
Me? An expert?
“Sorry, lady,” I replied. (Okay, I didn’t say this anywhere but in my head.) “But I’m no expert. I’m just a chick in my jammies making shit up and hoping other people like that shit enough to want to give up a few of their hard earned bucks (quid, euros, etc–I’m not picky) to find out how the story ends.”
There are a lot of experts out there–an absolute wealth of articles on how to get published, how to snag an agent, how to format things for indies and how to make your cover art not suck if you’re doing it yourself.
It feels a bit like when I was 25. I remember thinking that I had expected a sense of ah-ha! to come with adulthood… like all the secrets of the universe would somehow become clear, now that I was no longer burdered with the confusion (and sometimes agony) of childhood and adolescence. I’m 41 years old, and still waiting.
I’m still no expert, on life or on publishing. I’m just hanging out and making shit up, and that’ll have to do.
Oh, and I’m thinking about toast. So if any of you are experts on toast, do let me know. Because when a Certain Highlander sits down in the morning with his buttery, crunchy bread, it never fails to make my mouth water. And even though I know mine won’t taste as good as I think his must, I still go pop some in for myself.
There probably is a life lesson in there, but as I said, I’m no expert.
Q: Do you ever find yourself preoccupied with the little things? What’s your big small question? (Or small big question?)
Related Posts
Tags
Share This
I agree. Everyone’s toast looks better, smells better and tastes better – as in, may I have a bite of your toast? Yes, guilty, very guilty of asking people to share their toast! Shameless.
LOL I know exactly how you feel! I wonder when I will ever feel like I know what I’m doing… but I think the key is when someone asks, do what you do best–make shit up.
[ Follow me on Twitter: PattiLarsen ]
I know I’m no expert! And I’d be willing to host an author in her jammies. I won’t even tell anyone…
[ Follow me on Twitter: alexjcavanaugh ]
I’m a toast expert! I make the best charred toast EVER!
Publishing, not so much.
[ Follow me on Twitter: talliroland ]
I think this has something to do with that fact that a person cannot tickle themslves. Not sure, but it’s probably a brain thing.
I’m not publishing expert either, but if you told me you were, I’d believe you.
Pop the bread under the broiler till it’s just the shade of browned (I made up that word!)that you want. Be certain to butter it well first. Guaranteed to satisfy. Now I have to get back to my garden book.
@Lydia K — you’re so right; it’s a brain thing very like toast and tickling.
You’re (in your jammies) in a room down the hallway, a tantalizing, toasty smell wafts concurrently with himself moving about, sounds from the silverware drawer, the fridge, the pop of the toaster. It means: all is well.
I thought of you, your Peeps, your writing groups, your blog-0-pals, your prolific and impressive output yesterday while in a meeting. I can’t tell you what the speaker said but a sign hanging nearby read: THE ROAD TO SUCCESS IS ALWAYS “UNDER CONSTRUCTION.”
Living in Oklahoma as I do, where we spend kazillions annually on roads and highways, yet one can never, ever drive to Dallas without a 6-mile, one-lane slow down, that sign was neon.
I felt like a fraud all my younger days. If anyone knew what I was “really like”, no one would have anything to do with me. Thirty came and went. Forty, and I felt like Moses: “old and wise.” Then I didn’t die. I made enormous $$$ in the oil business then, immediately someone else bought the company and I was searching want-ads again. Back to square one.
Three college and university degrees later and I’m teaching a course I’ve never studied, didn’t take at university, and which textbook I haven’t read. Qualifications? I’ve got ‘em. Am I fakin’ it? No. Am I an expert? Hell, NO. All I have to do is stay a mile or so ahead in the construction zone.
Someone who knows what you do, is way ahead of those behind you. You don’t need to know it all; just use what you do know to advantage. A totally unselfish person as you are, many of us are going to benefit. I know that I do.
[ Follow me on Twitter: girlfrenkate ]
…and yet you have such a wonderful analogy in toast! Maybe you just don’t recognize yet that you *are* an expert [g]