second manuscript

Reactions in a DeLorean

Yesterday I signed my first book deal. I had reactions of my own, namely extreme excitement combined with an odd sensation of worrying vertigo. It turns out finding the handle of one of your dreams and finally getting a grip on it is just as terrifying as it is satisfying – I find myself thinking of the work ahead. Of which there is plenty: having signed with a small company, I’m about to get an exciting crash course in marketing.

It doesn’t feel like a brass ring, or like a lottery ticket. It feels like another step, if it is a by-and-large HUGE and wonderful step filled with bacon cheeseburgers and puppies and happy things. It made me wonder, what would previous incarnations of myself think?

26 and 7

Bobby (26) : “Hey, seven-year-old me! We finally got published!”

Bobby (7) : “Well duuuuh. Was your story about cats or penguins, like my story?”

Bobby (26): “Sorry bud. I’m afraid I’ve pretty much retired myself from ‘anthropomorphic animals go somewhere wacky’ genre.”

Bobby (7): “I don’t even know who you are. Is Raphael still your favorite ninja turtle?”

Bobby (26): “Well, obviously.”

Bobby (7): “Wanna play Power Rangers? I’m the Red Ranger!”

Bobby (26): “What? That’s ridiculous . . . I’m the Red Ranger.”

26 and 12

Bobby (26) : “Hey, twelve-year-old me! We finally got published!”

Bobby (12): “Yeah, sure. Hey, so you’re from the future then?”

Bobby (26) : “Obviously.”

Bobby (12): “So . . . wow, you’re tall.”

Bobby (26): “Very true. I know you’re shorter than all the girls right now, and pretty fat, and your haircut is . . . really, a ponytail? Anyway, it gets a lot better.”

Bobby (12): “We’re still fat, I see.”

Bobby (26): “Well, we get much thinner. Then after high school we get REALLY fat, but then we get thin again. Now we’re somewhere in the middle because – you know what? Listen. That’s not really what I’m here to talk about. I’m saying – ”

Bobby (12): “Quiet. Be honest with me. Have we touched a booby yet? Don’t bullshit me here.”

Bobby (26): “That’s not really important – ”

Bobby (12): “You shut your cow mouth. Boobies. Touched. Go.”

Bobby (26): “Little Bobby . . . ”

Bobby (12): “Remember how much I’m getting bullied right now? I will end you.”

Bobby (26): “Well . . . yeah. All the time. It’s pretty awesome.”

Bobby (12): “WoooooOOOOO!”

Bobby (26): “Sigh”

26 and 16

Bobby (26): “Hey, sixteen-year-old Bobby! We just got published!”

Bobby (16): “Um, how old are you?”

Bobby (26): “I’m . . . twenty six. I’m twenty six. Why?”

Bobby (16): “So, we got published like, again?”

Bobby (26): “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Bobby (16): “You published like, your ninth book, right?”

Bobby (26): “No, it’s the first one. I dont . . . ”

Bobby (16): “THE FIRST ONE? Are you HIGH?”

Bobby (26): “We don’t really get into drugs – ”

Bobby (16): “You, just now, ten years from now, publish your first book. Wow. Wow On a Pogo Stick. Were you kidnapped somewhere in the intervening years? Did you overcome a debilitating illness? Fight in a war?”

Bobby (26): “No, no, and no. It’s a slow process, dude.”

Bobby (16): “Most authors write a book in a year, right? How many books have been fully completed in ten years?”

Bobby (26): “Hold on. A book a year is pretty fast. And besides, you don’t start seriously writing for another four years.”

Bobby (16): “What? Why?! Oh, oh. College. Right. I guess that makes sense.”

Bobby (26): “Oh, uh . . . ”

Bobby (16): “What? Oh what now? You didn’t GO TO COLLEGE?!”

Bobby (26): “I went . . .”

Bobby (16): “Oh Jesus, man.”

Bobby (26): “So, to uh, answer your earlier question . . . two books.”

Bobby (16): “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore.”

Bobby (26): “I’m sorry, dude.”

Bobby (16): “You know what? Whatever. What’s the booby situation?”

Bobby (26): “Excellent, really.”

Bobby (16): “One out of three ain’t bad, I guess. We have a show tonight, wanna come? It’ll freak everyone out.”

Bobby (26): “Sure! I’ll jump and be like ‘I’m from the future, where the zombies are! Ahhhhh!'”

Bobby (16): “Ha, nice. There aren’t . . . ”

Bobby (26): “No, no zombies. But I’ve got some bad news for you about vampire movies . . . “

Categories: publishing, second manuscript, writing | 2 Comments

Genesis (Not Sega)

I blog, therefore, I am.

I’ve had a few blogs before, here and there, scraps of personal info or jokes or comics starring action figures (hilarious, but unprofitable).

I’m first and foremost a writer, and I thought I’d use this particular space to shake loose all the random thoughts, memories, and sea-shanties pertaining to that most hallowed profession. Well, maybe not most hallowed. I mean, we authors basically enjoy “lying to people¬†and “wearing sweatpants,” and other than drug-dealer, writer is the only job that allows for both in great quantities.

I’m B.C. Johnson, and I’ll be your host this evening. Actually it’s the middle of the day, and I’m supposed to be working on my manuscript. But I couldn’t help myself – today, I received my first offer to be published(!). A contract is in the mail, folks, and I almost exploded from sheer childish explosive, exploding glee. Whether I’ll be signing it has a lot to do with stuff out my hands, the content of the contract, how many sheep it requires I trade them, etc.

I told my agent I wouldn’t mind being paid in Assassin’s Creed games and Buffy Blurays, but apparently that isn’t “industry standard.”

My first novel sits on my hard drive and in a box, where it will likely remain until the Earth is taken over by Morlocks. My second novel, however, is out there. And someone wants it. Its a difficult feeling to express, but its sort of like OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHOOOOLLLLYYYCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP.


When my brain remembers how to function properly, I’ll be back here to try to sort it all out.

– B.C. Johnson

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