Picking Up Subject of..Book. (Don-kay)

I've been asked or told on a number of occasions that I really ought to think about publishing my drivel of a blog.  I admit that the lofty idea of a small measurement of fame really appeals to me--of COURSE I'd like to have book signings and feel really important in one hour stints.  People lined up to meet me?  OH HELLZ yeah.  I'd feel real super awesome if my totally unimportant writing ever broke into the bigger world beyond just the people who know me.  Yep, that'd be totally fucking TITS, ya'll.  But... there's a whole lot that has to happen before I can don diamonds and boas, before I can become a Material Girl.

Know what needs to happen?  WORK.  A whole shit ton of WORK.  Not only a whole bunch more  writing, but then there's the research of what it'd take to put these obnoxious musing to paper and get them bound.  I have zero idea where to even begin that process.  And to be honest, sitting right here, in front of my Mac at the dining room table, the idea is giving me total anxiety.  Not the kind where I hyperventilate and crawl under the bed (yes, I've done that before and it totally fucking SUCKS DONKEY BALLS), but the kind that chew my stomach up.  Because I'm sort of afraid of failure.  I'm afraid to get my hopes up and then have some really tight douche wad in a fancy office somewhere tell me that I'm totally unoriginal and besides--who would possibly give a SHIT about my writing aside from those that know me?  I mean, let's look at those who have written books similar to what I'd put out:

• Chelsea Handler.  Possibly my most favorite humor-writer ever because she tells it like it is.  Which, I pride myself on doing that very same thing, but she already had a stand-up career and a television show on Comedy Central.  So people WANTED to read her shit because they already had an idea of what they were getting into.
• Jenny Lawson.  You've probably never heard of her, but she has a wickedly successful blog, and therefore had a substantial following even before she wrote her book.  Again, there was already a market for selling her.
• Um.. David Sedaris.  Ok, HE might be my favorite, and I have no idea which chicken came first: his writing, or his appearances on This American Life.  Either way, people know his name and want to buy his shit because he's TOTALLY FUCKING HILARIOUS.
• Augusten Burroughs.  Now here we go.  He wasn't famous at all.  But he WAS an ad exec in NYC and therefore had somewhat of a name for himself and certainly had contacts.  Plus he was a gay dude who went to rehab.  Everyone loves gay dudes who go to rehab.

See?  All of the above had a platform from which to sell their books.  Me?  What the fuck's my platform?  If I even HAVE one, it'd be made out of a Bud Light beer box, surely.  And probably not even a full case, just a half-er.  So it can hardly carry my weight.  Even IF it still had all 12 full beers inside it.  Which it probably wouldn't, because I'd need all 12 of them to gather up enough courage to have a platform in the first place.  So, in a nutshell, I think my literary career is fucked before it even takes off.  And I guess that's ok.  So long as I keep amusing myself, and amusing you guys, too.

But, maybe some day, when I've gotten dozens more posts and stories written, and you guys have shared my shit with your friends and they share it with THEIR friends (you know, kinda like a herpes outbreak, only minus the puss and shame).  Yes, maybe when you all help spread the word of Skamp, maybe then I'll crawl out of my sissy-shell and see what I can do about getting someone greater than myself interested in what I have to say.  Until then, I'm just your obnoxious sister, friend, lover, daughter, student, bartendress who's struggling with getting her voice heard.

And before I forget, thank you friends, for reading this and supporting me.  If I didn't see those pesky numbers go up on my page, I'd probably throw some kind of rock star temper tantrum and quit this thing.  But those DO numbers keep creepin' up, and it makes me happier than a pig n' shit.

Peace out girl scouts, and may you get drunk and laid today.